


the other side

by bravely (commovente)



Series: the spaces between (your fingers and mine) [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Final Haikyuu!! Quest AU, Gen, M/M, Slow Build, also: queerplatonic iwaois because i am very weak.., bad things happen, but things will Be Alright in the end, fixed up the tags finally, kiddie!iwaois to teenage!iwaois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commovente/pseuds/bravely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you become king, I'll be your knight.</p><p>[or, the iwaoi haikyuu!! quest AU where knight-in-training Iwaizumi befriends demon prince Oikawa as a child, and the twists and turns that follow a friendship built from flowers, forest trees and homes found in other people if not always in a fixed place.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> the idea for this story came out of the blue one day while i was listening to kagamine rin and len's "the wolf that fell in love with little red riding hood" and i just went and ran with it...my writing style feels a little different too, but idk if that's just me or not aha (getting a teeny bit experimental i guess)
> 
> also, i adore all the haikyuu!! quest AUs so i suppose this probably would've come round sooner or later orz
> 
> i had some vague ideas of keeping it a one-shot but um. yeah it grew a mind of its own and escalated so.  
> (it'll still only be around 3 chapters long though)

 

 

> _one inevitable scene starts from a coincidence_
> 
> _i see a swaying red in the distance_

Tooru finds the flowers first.

At the base of the tree in the glade he likes to play in, the daisies nestled shyly along the roots like something secret, fragile and lovely and waiting to be found. Tooru loves flowers, even if he knows he mustn’t ever touch them - they’ll crumble into nothing, ashes to ashes, ants under a magnifying glass like Tooru’s seen the village kids do when he sneaks away from the castle to play. But, they’re his; and he doesn’t know how he knows that exactly but he knows that he’s the only person (demon) to come here, and he wonders who left him the pretty fledgling blooms. They must be human, which means they shouldn’t have left them, because don’t they know demons hate the humans that dwell in the village across the forest? But then again, Tooru also knows the humans hate demons right back, yet here he is, accepting flowers from what may as well have been a ghost, promising to himself he’ll thank the human properly if he ever comes across them.

Hopes that maybe next time, the human might bring him flowers wrapped in something he can touch, because Hell knows how frustratingly fiddly it is trying to sneak flowers into the castle, floating them just inside his robes, hovering amidst the space between his cloak and his chest.

 

 

> _i found a black shadow in the mysterious forest_
> 
> _and fled, fearing the feeling that something was starting_

Hajime watches the little demon toddle away, anxious but obviously eager to head home with his secret stowed close to his heart. Huh. So he really does like flowers, then…? Hajime tells himself he doesn’t know what possessed him to pick the daisies (and bites the inside of his cheek as he does; his mother always did pinch his cheeks together for lying), but he supposes this should be okay - after all, it’s not like the demon knows for sure that someone left them for him, and besides, it’s not like anyone would ever know that someone was Hajime (lies, lies, the fleshy bit inside his cheek might start to bleed if he doesn’t start thinking something true soon).

So he burrows out of his hiding spot, the hollow alcove on the opposite side of the tree, disguised in foliage and camouflaged by shade. Lurking in the shadows, guiltily sneaking peeks of the little demon prince as he chases the sunlight streaming across the grove, enviously observing village children pick flowers from afar, smile small and sad and unbeknownst to its wearer. Which is what drove Hajime to the task in the first place, anyway, the teeny tiny smile that had no right calling itself as such when it was so obviously an expression of pain. The acute familiarity of the slight pull of the mouth, recognised from puddles and ponds on a face that mirrors his own. Bites the inside of his cheek yet again, but this time for honesty about what he tried to lie to himself about in the first place.

As he slips through the trees, quietly traipsing his way back home, Hajime considers the following:

  1. the likelihood of filching the old lady across the road’s lilies on his way to the forest tomorrow, and the even more pressing possibility of his discovery as the culprit;
  2. the less precarious and surely sooner-gratifying option of playing with children his own species from the village in favour of courting a demon with flowers for something properly resembling a smile; and
  3. how even more than dishonesty and deception in the woods, his mother would absolutely, most definitely have his head for wanting to cheer up the son of the village’s most hated enemy.



But mostly, Hajime was considering the exact tug of the little demon’s smile, how it had morphed into something bright and beautiful as daisies at the sight of the flowers without ever moving a single inch of his mouth. It was that more than anything that pushed him into borrowing (because it’s not stealing if the hag was letting them wilt anyway, it isn’t) the lilies in a mad scramble the following morning that was part-tumble, part-stumble, part-suspect-flowery-bundle across the green into the safety of the forest.

***

And so it begins —

summer giving way to fall, fall throwing away its leaves for winter.

 

 

Every day the flowers, every day the sun.

Every day the boy chasing the smile of the boy who chases the light.

**[THE OTHER SIDE]**

***

Seasons pass, and Tooru expands his armful of daisies into almost a whole garden; dozens upon dozens of flowers transported carefully back to the castle, enchanted by magic into mason jars to keep their blooms alive. All different sorts of flowers - some bunches bigger and bolder than others; some closer to flower crowns and daisy chains; one particular posy full of small, pretty blue and yellow blossoms Tooru once received on his birthday but never received again (those were his favourites. Secretly, he hopes to get those again on his birthday next year, and the year after, and the year after…). All lovely, all kept close to Tooru’s heart, if not always as literally as they are on the journey back from the forest.

He’s yet to see his mystery flower-giver, nor hear his voice; never once discovered where he finds all that flora even in the dead of winter. Because he is a he, that much Tooru knows for sure - he’s seen the footsteps, left hastily and hap-hazard on days blighted with bad weather; the smell of something metallic mixed with the hint of something sweet (steel swords and spun sugar, truly a boy after Tooru’s own heart); heard the panicked intakes of breath and loud Adam’s-apple-swallows every time he edges close to the other side of the tree. A line, unspoken and unseen; the terms and conditions for mystery boy’s prolonged presence/presents in the glade ( _…and sign right over here for your daily delivery of nature’s very own…always make sure to read the fine print first!_ ) Tooru’s come to think of as _theirs_.

So he wants to make like he’s not actually there, hm?

That’s okay.

Tooru will talk anyway.

 

After all, it’s not like he knows what’s it like, talking without having to pretend that somebody’s really there.

 

(Tooru so desperately wants somebody to be there.

He finds himself constantly reaching for the blue and yellow flowers he keeps pinned against his clothes - second button from the top, pressed and kept in glass, safe and sound from an owner that’s both its patient and disease - and reminds himself that this time, somebody _is_.

Somebody is right there, on the other side of this tree.

(It is both the kindest and cruelest gift he’s received from this person to date.)

 

 

> _a “meeting” will only_
> 
> _lead to an ending_
> 
> _so i took the longer route on purpose_

In a pouch he carries everywhere he goes are a collection of one-sided conversations Hajime has participated in without contribution, all of which he transcribes faithfully onto parchment every night anyway (the older ones smudged and worn from travel and perusal; a written equivalent for pressed posies worn just above the heart):

Yoo-hoo, hello over there…!

Hello? You _are_ there, right? I know that you are.

_(…)_

…you don’t talk very much, do you? That’s okay; you can listen to me instead. My name is Oikawa Tooru, and I live at that castle just over there, on the other side of the forest that your village is, and — oh!

_(Hajime had jerked against the tree; it shook slightly, echoing his surprise)_

— Right. Sorry, I know that it’s bad to assume things, but you see, you’ve been giving me all these flowers, and…oh, there I go again, huh, going right on and assuming that it’s you who’s been giving me all these flowers…demons can’t touch flowers, and mostly they can’t stand them, but I think they’re wonderful, but I guess you knew that already, huh….oh, _again_. Whoops, I’m not very good at this whole talking to other people thing. Demons don’t really talk much to other people. Or any people at all actually, so…

_(Hajime’s never been very good at talking to other people, either - he’s always been too loud or too brash or just altogether too much, an overflowing kettle with nowhere to pour out the excess - but he doesn’t say so. He’s always been like that, too. For all his bluntness and bravado, he’s a particularly patient listener. So that’s what he does - listens.)_

— And I don’t really know how to say, but it’s like…warm. The flowers are warm, the sun is warm - well, duh - and so are the moon and the stars and the seasons and the snow…but like, not always. I think it’s warmer with the flowers around. So, I guess, kinda, sorta, it’s you? Yeah. Yeah…what I’m trying to say is, everything seems warmer with you! You’re sunshine on snowy days, you make everything feel invincible, you make _me_ feel invincible…but uh, uh!! That is, just, this great Oikawa-san thinks you might be almost as great as he is - not greater, obviously, but still pretty great, and…

_(He’ll never admit it, but Hajime understands. He feels warm, too.) Thank you for the flowers. (Thank you for your smile - the real one, the shiny one. Like sunshine, light and lovely and bright as daisies. )_

— so I take the flowers home, all sneaky quick-like, and let me tell you, it’s awful hard trying to keep them floating _just so_ …

_(He makes a mental note to wrap the bouquets before giving them from now on.)_

…And sometimes, not a lot of times, but sometimes, Father praises me…

_(But of course he has a life beyond this little patch of forest they’ve taken to meeting up in. Obviously, Tooru’s gotta be learning how to be a Demon King somewhere - even Hajime’s dad has been trying to teach him botany lately, spurred by his son’s sudden interest in flowers. He hopes his dad isn’t too invested in that particular endeavour though, because Hajime would much rather learn to be a knight. He’s been practicing swordsmanship whenever he’s not on the other side of the tree from Tooru.)_

— I think I’m getting pretty good at this whole talking thing, maybe you could try it too? I could absolutely help you if you get stuck! …But don’t force yourself too hard or anything, wouldn’t want you getting hurt…after all, who’d bring me flowers everyday then, right? A ha ha ha…

_(…)_

Hey, you’re my friend, right? I mean, you give me flowers and keep me company all day, and I sit and talk and pretend you aren’t there, even though I know you are, I mean, that is…!

_(Sometimes, Hajime wants to say something, anything, because he so badly wants Tooru to keep that smile, because he’s so utterly terrified he’ll do something or not do anything at all and suddenly it’ll go away again…)_

I don’t even know your name, you know. Imagine that, it’s like you really aren’t there at all, and I’m having heart-to-hearts with this lovely bunch of…are these, um… azaleas?

_(They’re hibiscus. They mean ‘delicate beauty’, his father’s a botanist and told him so. Hajime just thought Tooru’d like them. They’re flowers, after all.)_

I wish you’d say something back.

_(But he doesn’t.)_

_(Not yet.)_

***

And so it goes —

a boy who talks when all he wants is to listen;

another is silent when all he wants is to be heard.

 

 

After all, the grass always seems ever greener when you’re standing on the other side.

(Except, of course, for the times when it isn’t.)

***

The first time Tooru hears him speak, it is almost entirely by accident.

He says only two words (“you’re dumb”), but Tooru can’t bring himself to be mad; not even a little bit, not even at all. Because not only has he gotten his (best? only?) friend (???) to speak, he’s also gotten his _name_. Or given him one to call him by, more like, but Tooru’s not particularly fussy about the details.

This glorious development unfolded itself somewhat like this:

Having successfully finished his Demon King lessons for the day - which Tooru really and truly despises, because there is nothing at all beautiful about learning to be mean and sneaky, and also Tooru thinks that he is sneaky enough thank-you-very-much - he makes his way down into the forest, fully prepared to slump against his tree and vent to his dependable, tree-dwelling listener. But as it turns out, his lessons must have finished earlier than usual (it’s hard to tell when every minute slows itself into a veritable eternity) because he spots a boy-shaped, spiky-haired shadowy blob ducking into the opposite end of the tree. Delighted, he directs a little magic to his feet and zooms his way on a direct route to the tree-hole’s secret entry…

…only to squeal into a sudden halt, because his mystery boy has lobbed a pebble at his forehead. Which Tooru totally resents, because why must he keep up their unspoken agreement to play pretend when he _literally just watched him climb into the tree?_ And so, never one to take things sitting down, Tooru tells him so -

“Well excuse you, _rude_.”

He thinks he hears an answering snort resounding from somewhere inside the tree trunk, which is mildly discouraging in a your-mother-clearly-never-taught-you-manners kinda way but also very encouraging in a so-the-mystery-man-finally-speaks! sort of way.

He tries to dash forward again.

Another pebble, this time aimed at his nose; Tooru feels the strangest temptation to sneeze.

Again and again, he leaps towards the tree; coming from all sorts of different and at times gravity-defying directions (magic, indeed) to the same result every single time. But oddly enough, he doesn’t feel annoyed in the slightest. Rather, he realises he’s having fun, playing this bizarre game against his mostly-quiet - yet admittedly skilled - opponent.

Laughing tiredly, he slumps back against his side of the tree, picking up today’s only slightly-crookedly wrapped bouquet and smiling. The wrappings get better and better every single day; the effort evident is really very endearing. Having also grown accustomed to voicing his thoughts as they enter his head, Tooru tells him so —

“Your bouquets get better every time, Iwa-chan.”

— before stilling, only just registering what he had said. But when he does, he beams even wider. Sounding more than a little pleased with his wit, he declares, “that’s it! From now on, I’m calling you Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, because you are really as obstinate as a rock.”

And no matter how hard he tried (which was not very hard), he couldn’t find it in himself to feel offended when he’s offered, nonplussed and deadpan, those two words in reply after an exaggeratedly (affectionately!) drawn out sigh.

“You’re dumb.”

Tooru decides today is a good day after all, and lapses into comfortable chatter; something-or-other about a boy and a posy of little blue flowers. Not for any expectation of a reply, but the reassurance of speaking your thoughts knowing somebody is listening.

Somebody is _there_.

Just on the other side.

It feels somehow less lonely than it used to before.

 

 

> _i’m not thinking something like wanting to meet,_
> 
> _something like wanting to touch_

In hindsight, Hajime muses that he probably shouldn’t have enjoyed their (mostly non-verbal, but still the most communication they’ve had in half a year) playful banter as much as he did. But he did - he _does_ \- and begins to plot out further possibilities in the way of non-verbally communicating with Tooru. After all, although he might bend the rules occasionally (read: daily, because the forest is strictly forbidden to, well, everyone) he still likes to act like a law-abiding member of the village when he can.

Tries to tell himself that he’s not hurting anyone or anything by going out into the forest every day, except maybe his mother’s rather rigid sensibilities, and his afternoons with Tooru are the most fun he’s had in ages. He also doesn’t much like to remember the truth; which despite his best and most admirable efforts insists on worming its way into his train of thought, until he’s forced to admit yet again to his equally obstinate conscience that he knows what he’s doing isn’t…strictly… correct.

…Actually, Hajime knows it’s wrong, leaving daisies and lilies and bashfully woven flower crowns at the foot of the tree for the demon to find. Knows demons can’t touch flowers, knows he’ll disintegrate just like the flowers if the other demons find him, if the people from the village knew. But Hajime also knows that the demon’s name is Tooru and his favourite flowers are forget-me-nots; that he dances around the glade to catch starbursts and sunbeams when he thinks he’s alone; and that Tooru comes back to the glade everyday because he knows Hajime’s waiting even though he doesn’t actually know Hajime’s name.

He’s heard of stories like this, fairy tales and folk lore about things that lurk in the woods, but who’s Little Red Riding Hood and who’s the Big Bad Wolf when it’s a scrawny village boy tempting a Demon King-to-be into the trees?

Hajime doesn’t know, but he’ll come back everyday just to see that dumb demon prince smile.

 

***

 

Some post-chapter notes:

1\. the whole "demons + flowers = no" concept comes from the manga hana to akuma (which is very bittersweet but also very cute, recommend/10)  
2\. "iwa" translates to "rock" in japanese  
3\. lyrics from "the wolf that fell in love with little red riding hood" by kagamine rin and len  
4\. updates will be sporadic probably, but they will happen!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you, thank you, thank you all for reading!!
> 
> Comments make my soul s i n g so anything at all (thoughts/opinions/critcisms/etc) is all super duper appreciated <33


	2. halcyon days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " - when Iwaizumi Hajime is all grown up, he’s going to be Oikawa Tooru’s knight.
> 
>  ...Hajime can't wait."

Slowly but surely, Tooru educates himself on all there is (that he can think of) to know about Iwa-chan. He’s made it into a goal of sorts; a habitual process to be crossed off his daily checklist. Sometimes, he’s successful -

 

 

Do you feel like playing again?

Have you made sure to eat before coming here?

How are you today, Iwa-chan?

 

 

In response to the first inquiry, a soft snort - _of course, silly_ \- and a delightful thing tossed at him with regards to the second that he later learns is called milk bread. It is instantly filed into Tooru’s internal archive of favourite human things:

 

 

  * blue birthday flowers,
  * milk bread, and
  * Iwa-chan himself.



 

 

As far as the last question goes, he’s fine. Or at least, that’s what Tooru thinks he heard. It was a pretty noncommittal grunt after all, and could possibly be taken either way, depending on what you were listening for or which way the wind was blowing or what direction you were facing with respect to their tree. However, Tooru has been reading up on how to read human emotions - the better to get to know his stubbornly silent companion, Tooru is nothing if not thorough - and not even a probably-older-than-him-plus-Iwa-combined tree trunk can hide that for all his lack of response, Iwa-chan is feeling warm and welcoming and completely focused on Tooru. From what he can tell, anyway. It’s the feeling Tooru always gets when he tries to feel out for his friend’s emotions - along with the occasional flares of fond, fleeting irritation - but Tooru doesn’t think those count, really.

But other times, not so much -

What’s it like in the village? Is your family nice? What do you do when you’re not here (with me, he means, but even if he doesn’t say it he has the strangest sense that that’s what Iwa-chan heard anyway. And Tooru never would’ve thought that there were so many translations to differentiate between silences, but there you go, you learn something new every day.)

After all, if Tooru’s dead-set on learning Iwa-chan inside out, Iwa-chan seems pretty determined to deter him to the best of his abilities; a twisted, backwards version of Twenty Questions. And he supposes he should probably feel more bothered about this than he does (read: he doesn’t feel bothered; not even a little, not even a lot) but Tooru doesn’t need to use magic to get the growing suspicion that even without any knowledge of Iwa-chan’s life outside the forest, he still knows him almost as well as he knows himself. It’s intuitive, built partially from almost a year and half’s worth of constant companionship; partially from an accustomed sensitivity to picking up the idiosyncrasies between Iwa-chan’s emotions; and largely from the same unknowable, unshakeable source that connects the two of them, that makes Iwa-chan Tooru’s best friend, that keeps Iwa-chan returning to their tree every single day.

If he had to describe it, Tooru would say that it’s something very similar to _faith_.

Reminds him a lot of what he’s heard is called _trust_.

Feels a lot like what all his lessons and demon-lore refer to as a _promise_.

(Some time after, he realises that the word he was searching for was _always_.)

 

***

 

Hajime grows slowly more comfortable conversing with Tooru as time passes. Or maybe he’s just grown more accepting of his secretly-criminal status. Or finally resigned himself to the fact that there are only so many ways of trying to communicate without words when one never shuts up and the other never does. He doesn’t quite reach Tooru-level talkativity (sincerely doubts the plausibility of it even being possible), but he does pitch into their (still somewhat one-sided) discussions every know and again. Lends his ear when it’s needed, his words when the comfortable quiet isn’t enough. He looks after Tooru, as much as he can, and worries in his stead whenever he can’t because he might not talk about his life outside their forest glade but Hajime is certain that his friend is the exact kind of dummy to always, always push himself too far for something he shouldn’t have to push through at all (alone, anyway).

In that respect, he’s not wrong.

Tooru might know Hajime best, but Hajime knows Tooru right back.

After all, that’s what best friends do.

 

***

 

See, the thing about stories are that they tend to go like this -

orientation, complication, resolution.

 

The thing about stories are that really, they’re just other people’s lives that live on in other peoples’ time.

 

And the thing about time, is that it goes on.

 

(Even when you wish it wouldn’t.

But that comes later.)

 

***

 

Tooru can’t remember when Iwa-chan asked him The Question.

Which is not to say that Iwa-chan doesn’t ask questions usually, especially now that he’s actually beginning to talk to Tooru instead of just listening all the time (Iwa-chan is, after all, a fabulous listener - it’s not just anyone who can make you feel warm and happy and understood by simply being there, but Tooru digresses) even though his question ratio to Tooru’s still goes something like a one-to-ten kinda deal. This question in particular stays with him, however; drifting back in sleepless nights and unwarranted moments of hesitation, and not just because it’s the only one he’s never answered. So, Tooru mightn’t remember when or how it happened, but he still recalls with perfect clarity the way Iwa-chan shaped those five words - quietly, like it was important; but at the same time hesitant, like maybe he didn’t really want to know, after all, and -

“What are you afraid of?”

It’s not a difficult question.

What are you afraid of?

Bugs. Tooru can’t stand bugs, but he’s also terrified of the other demons, in a woah-there-creeper-stranger-danger kind of way; and also, to a certain extent, his father. Like when he’s angry. Tooru doesn’t think about his father when he’s angry. So logically, he could’ve responded with any of these and technically they would be true.

Except, he thinks those aren’t what Iwa-chan is after. What, then?

 

What are you afraid of?

 

Dying, probably.

Failure, definitely.

Losing? Absolutely.

 

 

None of those feel like the answer Iwa-chan’s asking for, though - which is ridiculous because all of them are - so maybe Iwa-chan was asking the wrong question.

Or Tooru wasn’t thinking of the right answer.

 

 

He doesn’t respond and Iwa-chan doesn’t ask again.

 

(But he remembers.)

 

***

 

Sometimes - very rarely, but it does occur - Hajime can’t make it to their spot in time for Tooru. And it shouldn’t be a big deal, because who has that kind of dedication to someone with no expectation of anything in return, but it is. Hajime’s a mess the first time it happens, surprising himself; not only by the depth of panic at Tooru talking to someone that isn’t there (he’s not seeing sad eyes and empty smiles again, he isn’t), but by the measure he took to counter the growing anxiety (just to clear his head, that’s all, but he’s biting the inside of his cheek as he does).

In what must surely have been his fastest time yet, he’s running into the flower garden and straight to the forest line. There’s a portion of his brain that grows steadily more concerned at his increasing nonchalance and aptitude for theft, but he’ll worry about that later.

As the village guards lecture him for tardiness, probably.

That doesn’t matter, though, because he has enough time to leave a little flowery bundle (smaller than usual so as to avoid suspicion in his haste) by the tree. And he’s not the greatest at words nor the smartest with things like the language of flowers, but he’s pretty sure anyone would get the meaning behind those blooms.

Something like, _Sorry I can’t make today, I know you’re there anyway_.

 

 

A message along the lines of _I’ll see you tomorrow, for sure_.

 

 

Or something even simpler than that, something as simple as a name —

(I remember you.

I haven’t forgotten you .

Don’t forget.)

— a Forget-me-not.

 

***

 

Years pass.

 

 

Some things are bound to change —

changing seasons, changing times, changing flowers, changing lives.

 

And yet some things never do —

while their faces might age, their light and their smiles stay the same.

 

***

 

Birthdays.

Tooru never used to think twice about them until Iwa-chan came along.

This is the result of many reasons, namely:

 

 

  1. demons don’t celebrate birthdays. After all, when you’re going to live forever, what use is there in keeping track of time?
  2. despite having always secretly adored the idea of presents - both the giving and the receiving - he’d never, ever given or received something before. And eventually Tooru decided that the best present he could give himself is the gift of never expecting anything at all, because if you never expect, then you are never disappointed; and
  3. deep in his heart - which most days liked to pretend wasn’t there but always, always managed to unwittingly wander it’s way back into being with Iwa-chan; humans have such a dazzling array of emotions after all, and most days Tooru’s heart finds itself reaching out for them like his hands to Iwa-chan’s daily, flower-shaped deliveries - he wondered if maybe there was something wrong with him. No other demon seemed to care about anything at all and here he was, only just reining in every feeling that does nothing but cement the fact that he’s not a child-demon genius, an adolescent prodigy.



 

But those reasons don’t matter, because somewhere along the way, he’s found himself subconsciously categorising his life into Before and After (Iwa-chan). If someone tried to look into his mind, they’d probably find a tree dividing one side from the other; an unshakeable reminder of his internal upheaval’s source.

Later, he’d find out that the blue birthday flowers were nothing specially meant for birthdays at all. Except by the time he does, the damage was done — Tooru couldn’t think about his birthday without thinking about Iwa-chan.

 

Couldn’t think about the flowers without thinking about the presence of their giver. 

And, later, his absence. 

 

In hindsight, they did exactly what they were supposed to do, in the end. 

Make sure he remembers (don’t ever let him forget). 

Ha. 

Like he ever could. 

 

So of course he remembers. 

(forever, 

for always)

Iwa-chan called them forget-me-nots.

(for you.)

 

 

> _ even if we can’t meet  _
> 
> _ even if we can’t touch _

 

 

There are many different secrets in this world. Secrets you keep from others, secrets you keep from yourself, secrets kept and known by yourself alone. 

Iwaizumi Hajime is a keeper of all three. 

There’s the first, most obvious one - his possibly scandalous, definitely illicit best-friendship with a demon prince in the woods. This is easy to hide, just keep to the shadows and deny, deny, deny. If he gets caught, of course, which he hasn’t yet and hopefully never will. The second one is slightly more difficult to disguise, looming larger and more apparent by the day; so he pushes it aside, draping it in the background with descriptions of friendship and the shiny-bright veneer of the most dazzling smile Hajime’s ever seen in his life. He doesn’t think about the second secret, so it’s less a case of denial and more a continuous series of constant, enforced obliviousness. Platonic, filial innocence. Childish naivety, if you will. Convincing in the eyes of all but himself, were anyone to know, but nobody knows - and even if they did, his secret remaining a secret to himself was all that he asked for, anyway.

 

 

But the third secret.

Well. 

 

The third secret is a deception built upon the basis of openness, making it the most dangerous secret of all.

It’s no secret that Hajime’s been receiving training, being one of the village’s most promising knights-to-be. He’d have to be, there’s not much else keeping people off his back about where he goes running off to in the daytime. _Training_ , he says, and it’s not a lie - it just doesn’t hold the same meaning for him as it probably holds for them (another secret, whoops) - so that’s not the secret.

Even Tooru knows about his knight thing, even though he’s been careful not to mention it, and Hajime suspects some kind of demon mojo at work there which is, quite frankly, cheating. Not to mention unfair, Hajime can’t weasel truth about Tooru when it actually matters, but that’s beside the point. The point being, of course, that everyone and Tooru and their mother knows Hajime will be a knight when he grows up. Tooru’s even made a few lame, totally uninspired jokes about being his knight when he grows up and becomes Demon King (including the worst pun he’s ever heard involving demonic chains of command and various human knight-hand mans - right hand mans - _laaaame_ ). 

So no, that’s not the third secret. 

But Iwaizumi Hajime is a keeper of all kinds of secrets. 

And for all that Tooru jokes about having Hajime around for the rest of their lives to laugh and play and look after and just generally do what they do now, but in royal-demon-castle-setting, he’s not stupid. 

…Actually, he’s _right_. The third secret is one that he keeps away from others because it would be bad for himself, not to mention his very-much-needs-looking-after best friend. However, it’s also one that he keeps from said best friend because then it would go to his head - and Hajime is all for boosting Tooru’s boisterously false self-confidence into boisterously genuine self-confidence - but he also loves himself, and an even more fuelled and excitable Oikawa Tooru is a phenomenon no one need ever see nor experience.

 

 

The third secret is a secret that is kept to all but himself, if only for now. 

The third secret is one that is both terribly dangerous and also impossibly important he achieve. 

 

After all, when Tooru is all grown up and Demon King of all the demons in the land, he’s going to need a knight to keep him safe and sound and grounded. Knighthood training doesn’t cover rogue demon extermination for nothing, so on that particular not Hajime’s all set. 

The third secret is that when Iwaizumi Hajime is all grown up, he’s going to be Oikawa Tooru’s knight, and then no-one can get mad or force them apart and no-one will have to lie, anymore. 

 

Hajime can’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there's chapter 2 guys!!
> 
> i've got the rest of the story planned out already, more-or-less, all that's left is to write it so hopefully there should be an update a week until it's done??
> 
> As always, thank you, thank you, thank you all for reading!!
> 
> Comments make my soul s i n g so anything at all (thoughts/opinions/critcisms/etc) is all super duper appreciated <33


	3. turning point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I would go anywhere, be anything, so you can come back to me."

The summer of Tooru’s sixteenth year, the sun swelters so hot, the heat renders even the pleasantly cool, gnarled bark of their tree uncomfortably warm. At a glance, the glade is still; each second oozing into the next, slow and sticky as honey. But a closer inspection gives the glade away - the soft rustle of leaves, the bend of petals from busily flitting bees; the gentle, ever-present atmosphere permeating every pore of Tooru’s skin.

He’s been propped against the tree trunk long enough to feel the sweat soak through his clothes, pooling into the dip at the small of his back. Iwa-chan’s sprawled out across from him, having long since been lured away from the hollow trunk by the promise of soft grass and summer breeze.

“It’s hot today.”

Iwa-chan’s voice, deeper and huskier than it used to be; carrying but still somehow less commanding than Tooru’s own.

(It’s still as reassuring as ever, though.)

And Tooru used to dream about moments like these - slow and stretched out beside one another - but now that he has them, all he can think about is that he has spent so many moments exactly like this one that he probably couldn’t remember them all even if he tried.

“Mm.”

In days to come, even this moment now will become just another fragment, collectively blurring into countless others to form a single, solid recollection - a summer spent side by side. A decade ago, or even just a month ago, the thought of letting go anything about Iwa-chan would’ve terrified Tooru - keep him up trying to remember, have him bursting into wakefulness at odd hours of the night for fear that he would forget. But right here, right now, Tooru knows that should he ever forget, there will be other moments - and when those come around - then they will feel exactly like this.

“I want to see you.”

It’s not a question, and Iwa-chan knows that. Even if it were, it would be rhetorical - but Iwa-chan knows that, too.

“Then _see me_.”

A laugh bubbles its way out of Tooru’s throat, unexpected but not unwelcome. Years down the track and he still doesn’t know what his best friend looked like, couldn’t tell you if he wanted to. At first it was because Iwa-chan just seemed so…shy, getting antsy anytime he got too close to the tree hollow’s entrance. Eventually though, it grew into a habit - comfortable and familiar and routine to not pry into Iwa-chan’s appearance - not even when he was uncovered by a tree trunk, less than a metre away. Actually, at this point it wouldn’t feel right, breaking out of their established routine to push past the other’s boundaries like that without any proper kind of reason.

“Maybe someday.”

He doesn’t mind, really he doesn’t, because he doesn’t need to see Iwa-chan to know that he’s there - after all, that’s how it’s always been. And on days as hot and melty as this, it’s more comfortable to keep his eyes closed against the sun anyway.

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t a question, but Iwa-chan answers despite that. Can tell, just like with everything else about Tooru, when to speak and when to listen; when to validate beliefs Tooru himself won’t allow himself to admit he’s insecure about. Tooru’s eyes remain closed, but he can tell Iwa-chan’s looking at him now - he does that, sometimes, and Tooru can tell from the unchanged pulse of his heart that Iwa-chan’s probably not aware that he does. He doesn’t know what he looks for when he does, but he knows what it feels like when he finds it - the slightest exhale of breath, his heartbeat evening out over some stutter Tooru didn’t even realise was there until it wasn’t anymore.

Thinks to himself, _it’s the little things that give you away_.

Thinks if he’s honest with himself, he’s not entirely sure who he’s referring to.

 

(If he’s honest with himself, he would say it wouldn’t matter either way.)

 

> _i wanted to meet,_
> 
> _i wanted to touch_

 

“Tooru, that’s enough.”

But Tooru’s not listening - no, that’s not right - Tooru’s ignoring him. Tooru never ignores Hajime. Sure, he might act out sometimes but he never means it, flippant dismissal in the way that shows he’s paying attention and trying to rile Hajime up for more. But this. This was serious.

He sighs.

It’s going to be one of those days.

Everyone has them at one point or another; Tooru less frequently than most, but also more intense and all-consuming when he does. So though Hajime could never consider the thought of hating his best friend —

_(You don’t ever hate the best part of yourself, no matter what, always.)_

— he doesn’t need to consider anything at all to know with absolute certainty that he hates what Tooru does to himself. What Hajime is able to impede, yet never fully prevent.

_(No, you really can’t hate what you understand so absolutely.)_

_(But if the best part of yourself is breaking, then what does that make you?)_

Because Tooru never could knock sense back into himself after he’s gone and lost it (almost always of his own volition, but by the time he reaches this point that’s neither here nor there anyway), which leaves only Hajime to fit his pieces back together again - sometimes softly, sometimes silently - always without needing to be told. Because if Hajime needed prompting to pull his best friend back from the edge, then he couldn’t really call himself his best friend.

_(To protect his king, a knight must go to every length, pay any cost, withstand all trials.)_

So even though they’ve never breached this particular topic before, Hajime doesn’t hesitate in effectively breaking their unseen, unspoken wall.

_(To a knight, tearing down walls for his king is just another definition in the occupation of protection.)_

Folds himself around Tooru — arms around shoulders, arms around waist; Tooru’s head in the crook of Hajime’s neck, Hajime’s forehead knocking softly against the top of Tooru’s own - until it’s impossible to differentiate, let alone separate, one from the other.

_(I’ll be your sword, your shield and one true stronghold.)_

In another place, in another time, Hajime might know better how to fix things with force - fight the things that went bump in Tooru’s head at night with his fists - a battle easily began if not always successfully won. But in this place, in this time, Hajime knows Tooru only in the privacy of woodsy glades and the almost-accusatory light of day. Can only fumble along the routes which map Tooru’s skin across his collarbone and spine, match the rise and fall of his lungs with every breath passing through the cavity of his chest. Pretend his fingers’ dance along Tooru’s ribs lights lightly-freckled signposts to help Tooru find his way back - to himself, to Hajime, to home.

_(I would go anywhere, be anything, so you can come back to me.)_

Eventually, the heaving in Tooru’s chest stops, slowing to match Hajime’s breaths instead of the other way around; begins to mumble softly against the junction where his shoulders meet his chest. Closes his eyes to the sound of Hajime’s gruffly murmured response next to his ear.

They remain that way for the rest of the day.

 

 

***

 

 

A boy saw a dream every night in his sleep —

where the stars fell from the sky;

dipping softly into the oceans as the tides went their separate ways, and

every living thing finally found what it was they were looking for.

 

Another wakes to the reality of the day —

where kings fall from thrones to crown someone else in their place, and

someone else wishes their place was in the place of yet another;

but there are no wishes granted here.

 

(But sometimes, dreams really do come true.

And sometimes, all you have to do is wait and see.)

 

***

 

If somebody were to ask him what he was going to do when he grew up, Tooru would’ve had no hesitation whatsoever in his response - _become King, of course_.

Of course.

But when you’re a demon and destined to live forever (or long enough that it’s less of a hassle to just label a lifetime _forever_ and leave the topic at that), “growing up” becomes less a concrete, predetermined event and more of an abstract, not-wrong-but-not-really-proven-either possibility. He didn’t think it would happen like this. Not that he put a whole lot of thought behind it, but he’d be lying if he said he never once considered the possible sequence of events. These, however, were just fantasies - fleeting, flighty dreams escaped into during tedious lessons; whimsical nothings mumbled half-awake to Iwa-chan in the lulls between conversation.

_(“Think magic, think bright, dazzling beams of light. Power like lightning, power that’s unstoppable - a falling star headed straight to earth, power to make wishes upon and power enough to make them true.”)_

But then again, Tooru supposes that nothing ever quite plays out the way one expects things to.

_(“I’d rather chase dreams with my own power, thank you very much.”)_

See, the thing about shortcuts is that somewhere down the track, you begin to forget what it was you were cutting short in the process. The easy way out isn’t always the right one to choose; living a lifetime long enough to get rounded off to _forever_ doesn’t actually mean for _always_.

So yeah, maybe it took him the better part of eighteen years to remember, and maybe he had to see it face-to-face to acknowledge its verity. But he got there in the end, which is what matters most.

After all, the very action of living carries with it the inevitability of dying.

_(“But think of how easy it’d be, everything at your hands, nothing in your way. Shoot straight to the top - be the best, number one.”)_

In life, his father was what demons and humans alike labeled a winner. Always first, always best. Ambitious in his goals, determined in his conviction to see them through. An aura that drew people in, power and strength to back seemingly boundless charisma.

Standing tall and proud, Tooru grew up chasing that broad, broad back.

Even in death, his presence remained - for the people of the village, in the terrifying paranoia brought by his father’s extended absence, and the ever-tempting whispers to let down one’s guard, just let go. For the other demons, in the unified chaos that swept through the lands; riots and callous games of power, pain without the promise of any definite gain.

For Tooru, it’s the hole he left in his place, a wide, gaping chasm ready to swallow him up in its maw —

_not enough never enough why even bother to try_

— and it is so hard to surpass someone when it’s all you can do to keep them in your sights.

_(“You know, it’s pretty difficult to make number one if you can’t even see all the numbers that stand in between.”)_

But this, Tooru supposes, is where Iwa-chan comes in. Steadfast, dependable Iwa-chan. If he likened his relationship with his father to that of a steadfast, elusive star to chase after, then he’d probably describe Iwa-chan as the wind at his back to keep him from falling back to earth. A force of nature, not necessary but so difficult to live without once you’ve felt what it’s like with them by your side.

_(“Ah, well. That’s true, I suppose.”)_

Except that’s not quite right, either. Because Tooru is not a genius, and it’s an insult to Iwa-chan to say he’s nothing more than the catalyst for his own ability.

For Tooru, his best friend is:

\- A listening ear, a comforting shoulder, a safe place to ease his mind;

\- A companion, his equal, a team in perfect synchronisation; and

\- A support and anchor, to be sure, but also a motivator and reinforcer of wavering convictions.

In hindsight, he is so much more than wind. More like the earth, grounding him, or maybe even air, breathing life into his movements and in everything he does.

Not arbitrary, but necessary.

_(“Ne, Iwa-chan, where would I be without you?”)_

It probably doesn’t make sense to anyone else, being so dependent on someone else - and a human, at that. But then again, it’s also just as stupid and illogical to face the world - with its wonders and terrors alike - alone.

Alone, you’re only as good as the sum of your parts. Together, the possibilities are endless.

Also, there’s not much point to power and status and fame with no one to share it with but yourself.

_(“That’s not how a team works, you know. I depend on you, so you depend on me too. Idiot.” )_

At least, that’s what Tooru believes.

_(“…mm. Right as always, Iwa-chan.”)_

If it mean starting over from the lowest of the low, then that’s fine. He’ll smash through all the walls that stand in his way, build his throne and his reign from square one, and he’ll have Iwa-chan by his side every step of the way. He’s not his father, but Tooru’s beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, that’s okay.

That far-off, distant back isn’t almighty - not so much something to aspire to as it is something to improve upon - and two is always, always better than one.

After all, what’s a king without his knight?

 

***

 

As it happens, it would seem that Demon King coronations go down in much the same way as human King coronations. Except, theirs take place at night. And if his best-friend-gone-demon-king is to be believed (he is, but with a grain of salt because Hajime _knows_ Tooru) they also entail a lot more bloodshed and a lot less fealty than what Hajime’s grown up hearing about. He also sincerely doubts they include said future-Demon-King attempting to sneak into a very much human village in search of an also very much human knight because, and Hajime quotes, “the forest is teeming with everything ever and then some, but not a single one of them is you, _so_.”

Okay, so maybe they’re not as similar as he first thought.

However, that still doesn’t change the fact that he has an almost adult (by human years) trying (and failing) to make flower crowns with magic in the flowerbed at the back of his house while playing temporary fugitive (in Tooru’s terms). So while he might be pretty damn proud of his best friend - his scowl is very quickly identifying itself more and more with a smile at this point - Hajime doesn’t think he’s ever met someone so intelligent who was this much of a _dumbass_.

“That’s not even how you make flower crowns, you know.”

And it seems Tooru _does_ know.

“Don’t actually say it, Iwa-chan, aren’t you supposed to be nice to someone on their coronation?”

This is ridiculous.

“You’re not king yet, dumbass.”

Here is where Tooru’s supposed to squawk and flail but not actually deny Hajime’s accusations. But instead, here is where Tooru’s face smoothens itself out into what would have been a surprisingly, genuinely serious expression, except that his cheeks are bursting into colour, and his eyes were —

— wait. Were those tears?

“Our first face to face meeting, and you insult my magic and call me a dumbass. You really are my Iwa-chan, aren’t you.”

Completely, absolutely ridiculous.

(He’s not blushing either, he isn’t, isn’t, isn’t —

— though the stuttering, thud thud thud of his pulse says otherwise.)

In lieu of a response, he very gingerly takes the flowers Tooru had tried to magic together, murmurs “here, let me.” Pretends he doesn’t feel Tooru pressing his face between his shoulder blades; and if he feels his best friend’s tears silently continue to soak into the back of his shirt, well, he pretends he doesn’t feel those either.

(There’s only one reason Tooru would risk the villagers’ discovery and Hajime’s own ire by sneaking here by himself. Today, of all days.)

Wordlessly, he reaches his hand back to squeeze the other’s, very loosely, before turning. Whispers “You’re gonna be great, you always are” as he holds the flower crown over Tooru’s head (he didn’t think Tooru’d appreciate the flowers dissolving into his hair if he let them drop). Watches Tooru mumble out the words - his throat sounds choked up - “that’s so like you, too, you know,” before promptly vanishing from Hajime’s sight, flower crown and all.

(He didn’t say _thank you,_ but Hajime knows it’s what he meant.)

Crouched in a circle of singed, ruined flowers he’ll probably get yelled at later for, it occurs to him that he hadn’t corrected Tooru’s words.

_(“You really are my Iwa-chan, aren’t you.”)_

Then again, they’re truer than he’d be willing to admit.

After all, what’s a knight without his king?

 

***

 

A boy says —

“Tell me again the dream where the stars fell from sky as the oceans parted, and how everyone finally found what they were looking for.”

 

The other replies —

“I dreamt the two of us lasted until the world ended. And even after that.”

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was going for a little longer than expected, so I may have cut off the last two scenes and plugged them into the start of the next chapter (in case the ending for this one felt abrupt in any way? idkidk)
> 
> But as always, thank you, thank you, thank you all for reading!!
> 
> Comments make my soul s i n g so anything at all (thoughts/opinions/critcisms/etc) is all super duper appreciated <33


	4. where i am now... (pt. i)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…home is the place you return to, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! It's taken longer than expected to get this next chapter up, so sorry about that..but the thing about this chapter is that it turned significantly longer than the other chapters, and as of now I'm still editing/not completely satisfied with the second half of the chapter so I thought, "why not just post the first half now..?"
> 
> Also, just a heads-up: this story isn't lumped into a series with the rest of my angsty-fics just for kicks. Even now, I'm not entirely certain why I do these things to myself...a true masochist, indeed /sweats nervously

Loyalty is a curious thing, Tooru muses, one winter morning two years into his reign and three weeks before his eighteenth birthday. Is it the implicit expectation, if not trust, of subservience from those under his rule? Or is it belief in a particular set of ideologies and values - to support the figurehead of whatever it is you believe in? Is it, in fact, something you get to decide?

Outside the castle walls lies the ever-looming denseness of the forest, separating his home from that of the humans’ village. Vivid and green and _alive_ , the trees form a darkly framed counterpart to the vermillion sunset; rays of setting sun dulling everything it touches in the very process of painting itself bright with colour. Watching the world blend together in front of him, it’s painfully obvious to see that nothing is ever set in stone . Black or white, right or wrong - it doesn’t feel appropriate to segregate into a dichotomy ideas like _loyalty_ or _trust_ or even _home_ when everywhere you look, the world bursts into a whole spectrum of colour, dozens upon dozens of different shades, never quite settling into any particular hue.

When thinking like that, Tooru supposes that maybe loyalty for him is weakness to others - demons don’t care for wishy-washy sentiment, what they want from their leader is someone strong and untouchable, someone to embody that which demons covet the most - power. But from another perspective, that same invulnerability is also something unattainable - a pipe dream, distant and impossible - something to strive _against_ , instead of _towards_.

What a curious life he lives - powerful, but not power-hungry; well-supported, but not necessarily well-trusted. His “subjects” are probably only as loyal to him as far as they can throw him; a means to an end. Except for one. To only one, Tooru is not the means to an end. For one lone knight, Tooru himself is the destination.

A partnership founded on give and take, a journey that begins and ends from the same point.

 

 

_(“I’ll be home before you know it.”_

_“But you’ll come back to me, right? Promise me you’ll come back.”)_

 

 

It’s been forty-two days since the last time he saw Iwa-chan. Not that he’s counting, he isn’t, it’s just that the forest seems especially lifeless without him, depressing as that is.

 

_(“That’s what I just said, dumbass.”_

_“Huh?"_

_“…home is the place you return to, isn’t it?”)_

 

And okay, maybe he does miss Iwa-chan a little.

The sun’s set fully by the time Tooru rouses from his thoughts, and he’s always loved watching the stars, but he doesn’t tonight. Tonight, he heads straight to his bed, counting petals instead of stars; seeking out constellations in the flowers that surround the walls of his room. Considers that maybe _loyalty_ is a lot like _home_ , after all - somewhere to return to.

Tooru drifts slowly into sleep’s waiting arms, mumbling drowsily about visiting the forest tomorrow for news of his knight’s return. The world’s a massive sprawling place, after all, and a single knight isn’t the only person trying to find their way back home.

Not every journey is taken by foot.

 

***

 

It was less a conscious decision which drove Hajime to enlist for this particular quest, and more a steeled resolve to face that which must be done. Also, by choosing to enlist in this newly-formed corps, he’s successfully bypassed (for now) the step which follows the completion of knight training - swearing fealty to a liege. For most, it’s not a particularly grand affair - a quick procession up to the lord of the province’s estate before heading back home to man a post in their respective villages. Occasionally though, if the knight is particularly talented or the lord particularly paranoid, a newly initiated vassal is taken directly under the wing of their liege as a member of their private guard. Having made a name of himself during his training as a promising recruit strong in combat and even stronger in will, this is precisely what Hajime had hoped to avoid. No matter how new to knighthood he may be, Hajime’s a knight through and through, and he knows where his loyalties lie.

They just don’t happen to quite coincide with the wishes of everyone in his village, that’s all.

Or his species as a whole, really, but that’s neither nor there either.

So, much to the chagrin of the local lord (like he doesn’t have enough protection up in his fortified estate) and the dismay of his parents and village elders (“a member of the private guard at your age - such an honour!”, “what were you thinking??”, etc, etc.) Hajime instead enlists a group of travelling knights formed for the specific purpose of vanquishing foes listed as wanted in the kingdom’s records.

While these do include the odd vagabond and/or conman, the kingdom’s wanted is, for the most part, comprised of demons. Specifically, demons sighted near human dwellings; demons known for terrorising humans (physically, as opposed to the widespread terror inspired by the name of their species alone); and - a notorious rumour spreading amongst the ranks Hajime joined up with - a rogue group of villains rebelling against the Demon King himself.

Like most things caught up in gossip and rumour - much to Hajime’s displeasure - there’s a hint of truth to the words his comrades speak. And since Tooru can hardly leave his post at the castle lest even more chaos be unleashed in his absence, there’s nothing for it but to take care of it himself. Official to the rest of the world or not, Hajime won’t stand for someone demeaning his king - in name or otherwise - and mercy on the soul of whoever dared to physically harm his best friend on top of that (his own smacks upside Tooru’s head don’t count, obviously, because violence aside someone has to keep that reckless fool in line, and it seems that someone just happens to be Hajime).

Besides, with all the new members drawn in by the fame and fortune promised by the group’s success, it shouldn’t take too long before it’s taken care of, anyway. With luck on his side, he might even make it just in time for Tooru’s birthday.

If nothing else, the broad, shit-eating grin he can already see himself receiving upon his return is all the motivation he needs to keep himself going.

 

***

 

To protect his king’s smile, a knight sets out on a journey. Before he leaves, he says:

_“I’ll be back.”_

 

It isn’t a question, but his king responds regardless:

_“Then I’ll be waiting.”_

 

***

 

The flowers stopped coming.

 

 

(But the memory remained.)

 

 

He isn’t worried though, because when you’re rather clever, mildly conniving and Demon King to boot, your information network is spread wide indeed. He knows Iwa-chan is doing well, and it’s a simple task planting seeds of uncertainty with regards to, ah, particular _unsavoury_ characters just before they’re most _unfortunately_ felled by that dratted travelling troop of knights. So no, Tooru’s not worried, not at all.

(However, he might have to replace the glass casing for his forget-me-not soon, because he’s swiped his fingers across it so frequently and forcefully as of late that the crystal is beginning to wear thin.)

And if lately there are butterflies in his belly and jitters swelling up from his heart to this throat, well, he can chalk it up to restlessness - after all, he’s even having trouble sleeping, too, these days. But he’s not worried, Iwa-chan’s fine; any day now Tooru will step out for a walk and spot Iwa-chan. Until then, he’ll just have to wait it out till that day comes. Who knows, perhaps Iwa-chan plans to come back for his birthday.

It’s only nine days before he turns eighteen.

 

***

 

Things are going well. At this rate, Hajime expects he might be back home just in time forTooru’s birthday (in seven days, and it’s a three days’ journey back from where he is currently). The weather’s nice in this region of the kingdom, temperate without a cloud in sight - the kind of place he could see himself taking Tooru, in another life; traipsing meadows looking for flowers not normally found where they live. But as it is, the road is smooth, well-worn from use, and Hajime follows with the rest of the corp to where the road will eventually split into two - one path continuing its journey to the next village, the other rumoured to lead to the last demon hideout they were sent to take out.

He isn’t nervous, exactly, but he’d be lying if he said he felt confident about this last hurdle before home. Usually, the more powerful and higher ranked demons lurked around the Demon King’s castle, trying to curry favour; a whole group of talented and strong demons sectioning themselves off from the caste in a far-flung corner of land like this can mean nothing good.

Gradually, the road roughens - even ground finding more sticks and stones in its midst, the roadside roots of trees tripping more than a few knights - in carelessness or nerves, Hajime can’t tell. But his own gait is steady and sure, he can’t afford to trip up now, not when he’s this close to home; and most definitely not when there’s a chance his next foes spell danger for his best friend. He might not have expressed it in as many words, but he did promise he’d come back to him. If the only way he’d be allowed to return is to be victorious, then Hajime just has to make sure he doesn’t lose.

 

Hajime has, is and will always be someone who keeps his promises.

 

 

From the back of the group, faint noises begin to drift into Hajime’s ears - an accident? A scuffle? It’s hard to tell. There’s a muffled quality to them, as if the sounds stretch from a distance much farther than the back of the line, and Hajime swallows. The shadows of the trees make it difficult to see what was happening further down, and nobody else slows their pace to check, so he doesn’t either. But it’s odd, and the more he thinks about it the more something whispers at the back of his mind, tickling the hair along his neck.

Then, just as suddenly as they began, the sounds cease, and Hajime realises what was bothering him. Noise. Or rather, the lack of it. It had been subtle, yet the further they travelled down the road, any and all sounds had slowly tapered off; a transition into silence so smooth it was undetected until he actively strained his ears for any sign of noise. Fluttering leaves, wisps of breeze, lingering afterthoughts of wildlife - nothing.

And this has happened once before, he remembers; this unnatural halt of background chatter, like walking into a soundproofed bubble.

_(Tooru was having one of those days. Hajime was late in getting to the grove, and by the time he did the demon prince had closed himself off to the world - literally. Floating in a sphere whose walls reflected his surroundings, but at the same time remaining alone. It was impossible to shatter on his own, and Hajime spent the better part of the afternoon coaxing him from the magic boundaries.)_

He stops walking, but no-one else does. Around him, the others continue, their steps soft and unyielding, letting on none of the clumsiness they had displayed mere minutes before. Watching their unfaltering progress towards the hideout, it occurs to him that maybe it wasn’t what lurked at the end of the road he should’ve been wary of.

_(He’s thirteen again, only just beginning to stop raising his hackles at his best friend’s attempts to peek into the hollow trunk. “Watch your back, Iwa-chan, or I might just carve another hole from the other side,” Tooru’s voice is light, but only half-teasing. Like most things, the other half remains serious, alert and eager to pounce on any opportunity Hajime lets slip through.)_

And he doesn’t want to do it, but Hajime knows that this isn’t a matter of want, but need. So even if the motion is slow and halting and reluctant, he does it. Unsure of what he expects (hopes? wants?) to find, he turns around.

 

 

> _i wanted to talk,_
> 
> _to tell the truth_

 

There’s a restless air in the castle, the atmosphere tense and taut wherever Tooru goes. It’s not surprising - it’s four days until he’s eighteen, which means Iwa-chan must surely be on his way back by now. He hasn’t heard much from his information network, but then again, he doesn’t think news of his kind’s loss would spread very far; especially not a defeat on this scale. Though as far as he’s concerned, no news is good news, and maybe now those pesky murmurs of rebellion against him can finally be laid to rest. It surely can’t have escaped his subjects’ attention that the only ones targeted are the ones stirring up unrest against him - and if that nudges all the others just that little bit closer to his command, then all the better.

Things are going well, and when Iwa-chan comes back, things will be perfect. Tooru smiles, small and pleased - _one of your real ones_ , Iwa-chan would say, if he were here - and if there’s a skip in his step, well. That’s real, too.

The sunlight streaming in through the windows is bright and warm, and Tooru slows to bask in it, drink in the warmth. These days, he finds himself shivering; cold too quickly, taking far too long to heat up again. But today, the world is vibrant and buzzing on the other side of the walls; or maybe it’s him pushing his own good mood onto his surroundings. Humming, he continues his rounds, only halting his tune when whispers of conversation float through one of the doors —

 

“ — longer than expected..”

“ Like it’s that hard… so weak these days…”

“ Please…there’s only, what, three left? They won’t last long…”

 

— which wouldn’t really be any cause for concern (for his own peace of mind, Tooru tries to avoid eavesdropping in the castle, accidentally or otherwise), but the unmistakable _excitement_ creeping into the speakers’ voice towards the end of the conversation makes Tooru pause. Pressing his ear to the wall, he focuses on the voices coming from the other side.

 

“Still, did they really think they could get rid of us, just like that?”

“Hah, humans.”

“It’s a wonder the king hasn’t done anything about them yet…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine…I mean, now he won’t have to, right? Those damn knights never saw it coming, haha…”

 

The voices continue, but Tooru doesn’t hear any of it. Frozen in place by the wall, he feels like a bucket of ice water was poured down the back of his shirt; the occasional shivers that wracked his spine recently had nothing on how cold he feels now. It’s a lie, right? The castle walls are playing tricks on him, definitely, he didn’t just hear that right now, _he didn’t didn’t didn’t_ —

 

“Hey, wasn’t one of the ones left from around here, somewhere?”

“Ah yeah, that village’s pride and joy, huh?”

“Well, not for long now. He must’ve been pretty good though, the others should’ve wiped ‘em all out by now..”

 

— except _he did_. He did just hear that. This is terrible, this is wrong, but _this is real_ , and Tooru doesn’t care about how he’s not supposed to leave the castle as he forces his frozen limbs into motion.

 

_Iwa-chan._

 

Demons scatter and push themselves flush to wall as he races through the halls, stunned at the speed and sheer power radiating from their normally composed king.

 

 _Iwa-chan_.

 

 

And maybe he should stop and think about this, pummel some sense into the demons who were unfortunate enough to be overheard, but he doesn’t have time. Iwa-chan’s in trouble, and he should’ve tracked their movements better, should’ve handled his own problems himself, should’ve never let Iwa-chan do this for him and now it’s all his fault if Iwa-chan gets hurt…

 

_Iwa-chan,_

_Iwa-chan,_

_Iwa-chan —_

 

The castle doors are open and the castle wall’s gate unlocked, purposely left that way to accommodate its owner’s (reckless, irresponsible) penchant for slipping out at odd intervals throughout the day. What he’s doing now is most definitely reckless and irresponsible, but Tooru’s positive he’d take being rash any day than being someone who could just sit around while his best friend’s in danger. For him.

 

_— Iwa-chan._

 

It’s times like these that Tooru’s grateful for his magic, using it to seek out Iwa-chan’s location as he flies through the doors and also possibly damaging the gate in his haste to open it, not letting up on his speed for a second. The knight’s a fair distance away, he senses - detecting his presence at the very edges of Tooru’s range of magical tracking - but that doesn’t matter. He’s grown up alongside the presence of his best friend, and he’d recognise it anywhere.

 

...

 

(Tooru doesn’t believe in god, but he prays he makes it in time.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's me again, ahah...for someone who can't stand encountering cliffhangers when reading, they seem to crop up a fair bit in my writing...however, never fear!! Please expect the second half up by the end of the week (I would say within the next 24 hours, but uni has just started and seems dead-set on demanding my attention whelp)
> 
> Thank you all as always for reading; I've finally reached the point in the story that first came to my mind when I came up with the idea for this fic, but lately I don't know I'm feeling very unsure of things ahh, so I would be so grateful for any and all kinds of feedback, it helps a lot...


	5. where I am now... (pt. ii)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camellia, in the language of flowers, means "my destiny is in your hands."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief warning: there are some mentions of blood and violence in this chapter, so please be mindful if that upsets you.

The sight that greets Hajime as he turns is disorienting, to say the least. A mess of violence and order; the aftermath of battle split between unruffled scenery to suggest otherwise. Hajime blinks, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing —

 

 

his comrades slumped against trees; splayed across the road in boneless, unnatural angles. _Blink_. Serene forests, trees lending their shade to a rough and ill-used path; fellow knights traipsing along, steady and certain towards their destination. _Blink_. Two figures back-to-back, breaking the formation, knights marching right past past them - through them? - endless scores of faceless silhouettes, slipping seamlessly into their shadows where their feet touch the ground

 

— an illusion. Hajime looks from side to side, figures moving unceasingly beside him confirming his suspicions. _They aren’t real._ As his gaze slides back to the two standing back-to-back - Hanamaki and Matsukawa, his brain supplies for him - his eyes meet Matsukawa’s. He nods, subtle but sure, I get it, you guys too? and Matsukawa nods back, gaze darting away from Hajime’s to shoot back and forth from one side of the path to the other.

He directs his gaze back to the trees, searching for something, anything - a discrepancy or even a place that looks too at ease, untouched, a tell to the presence of someone else with them. From memory he recalls that Tooru always worked best when there was some measure of cover to make-up for any chinks in his illusions.

And there it was, a soundless breeze whizzing gently by Hajime’s right ear, ruffling tree leaves even as it blows diagonally in front of him - straight to Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Hajime doesn’t think at all as he springs to action; doesn’t need to think to know what he should do next.

Demons shimmer into sight around his friends, and Hajime runs toward them.

 

***

 

_Pages flutter against the hardwood of Tooru’s desk, parchment left askew and forgotten in their owner’s unexpected departure from the castle. Contained within are a series of faded spells and charts; magic as old as a time before humans, before even demons walked the earth._

_The essence of magic is, after all, energy. To complete any spell, energy of equal worth must be exerted to obtain the desired result. However, the anatomical structure of demons allowed for a build-up of energy to be stored within them, prepped for use even without the physical effort normally necessary to perform such feats. These reserves of power determine each demon’s aptitude for magic - the greater the reserve, the stronger the magic released through minimal effort._

_However, such wonders do not come without cost. There’s a cost to everything, and a particularly steep one for so generous a boon, genetic though it may be. Should a demon continue to rely upon their latent stockpile of power without at some point resorting to the equivalent exchange of energy method, their magical reserve will eventually run out. And since magic is born from energy, it has generally been agreed amongst the demons that the loss of one’s reserves equals the loss of one’s life (having drained completely their life’s energy)._

_However, this is not quite true._

_Wind continues to whisper gently across the contents of the Demon King’s desk. A quill pen is carried along the current, settling from its location by the parchment to a more distant perch next to a magically preserved vase of camellia (the bouquet having permanently earned its spot on the desk after a then knight-in-training stutteringly informed its owner that camellia, in the language of flowers, means “my destiny is in your hands”)._

_Where the pen once rested, words are now discernible - the parchment’s final sentence now visible in its entirety. It now reads:_

 

_“Upon the depletion of one’s inherent magical power, the body once more reverts to the original state of a living vessel - human and, more importantly, mortal.”_

 

 

_And below it, penned in harried, near-illegible scrawl —_

 

_“ — no good. Memories are preserved in the demon-state’s life energy. Alternative method imperative.”_

 

 

> _but i can’t do that_

 

Hajime’s breathing hard - it’s a tall order to shake demons off his tail while fleeing at top speed, even for him - and he feels like he’s about to pass out from the gruelling pace he’s set himself, his muscles screaming in protest.

 

_(I gotta get away.)_

 

It was a trap, it was all a trap, that much was painfully obvious from the very moment he turned around. The demons whose lair they were supposed to be trashing had ambushed them, casting an illusion to mimic knights continuing down the road when in reality, they were getting picked off one by one.

 

_(Three of them left, not enough to put up a fight, yet not cornered enough for Hajime’s pride to feel at ease with conceding defeat. But the others are scared, barely able to move with their normal grace from panic. And Hajime’s not callous or stupid, he’s not gonna force anyone to fight when they can’t. But he can help make a tactical retreat - after all, he’s not the only person with someone waiting for them to come home.)_

 

Through sheer luck, they’d managed to temporarily shake their pursuers off, stowing themselves in an alcove of trees to catch their breath. This reprieve could only be temporary, however, and pretty soon they’re going to be found. Hajime knows it’s all but impossible to outsmart a demons’ tracking skill (having grown up with someone who can see the very essence of his presence and energy), and maybe three days of hurried, desperate escape is all he’s allowed to hope for.

He’s weary and fatigued, but his companions are even worse off - they were closer to the scuffles at the back of the group than Hajime was. If they want any chance at surviving, they need to get going, _now._

 

...That’s a lie though, and he knows it. The others are in no state to be moving around, especially since Hanamaki’d taken the brunt of an attack the night before, and Matsukawa’s exhausted supporting him as they move. If he wants to maximise their chances of survival, there’s only one thing Hajime think to do now. But it’s a terrible thing to consider, and even if it does work, the possibility is high that one of them won’t be making the journey home. That someone is going to have to split off from the rest, try and throw the demons off by making themselves bait. And he can sugarcoat it all he likes, but Hajime also knows that he’s been able to conserve the most strength out of the three, and the one most likely to be successful in creating an opportunity for the others to get away…

 

“Don’t do anything dumb, Iwaizumi.”

 

Hanamaki. Usually a pretty mellow guy, but his face is completely serious now. He must’ve been thinking of how to deal with their predicament, too. “You’re not a hero, man, so stop trying to act like you are,” pipes in Matsukawa, “we’re in this for the long run, don’t go selling yourself short now.” Hajime stares at him and Hanamaki both, takes in their worn-out bodies and their determined faces - even facing the threat of death, their camaraderie and resolve is clear. Knights through and through, all three of them. It’s that, more than anything else, which makes up Hajime’s mind.

He’d once told Tooru that someone who couldn’t even face the obstacles right in front of them had no right to dream of making it to number one. Except, he never imagined he’d have to prove it like this. In the current situation, staying with Hanamaki and Matsukawa means none of them would make it. If Hajime lets one of the others be bait, their injuries would hinder them, and Hajime might be able to make it back like that, but at what cost?

 

_(Three of us there are three of us I can’t leave anyone else behind —)_

 

It has to be him, after all.

 

“— ‘m sorry.”

 

Hanamaki looks like he might protest, but Matsukawa cuts him off. “…Are you sure? You know what you’re signing up for.”

 

Hajime repeats himself, stronger this time - “Sorry.”

 

He doesn’t wait for them to try and change his mind, doesn’t have that kinda time. Even if he did, he doesn’t think they would, though. Those two, more than anyone else, would understand what drove him to this decision - they, too, had their comrades ripped from them before they realised and could do something, _anything_ , to help.

There’s a twinge in his chest as he exits the alcove, and there’s a horrible familiarity in the action - remembers doing the exact same thing countless times, from a grove that looks a lot like the one he’s in now - and he knows Hanamaki and Matsukawa weren’t the only ones he was apologising to before he left.

 

 

It might be presumptuous to pray for a demon’s sake, but Hajime prays to every deity he knows that he gets the chance to apologise to Tooru for this, face-to-face.

 

_(There are so many things he should have told Tooru to his face, now that he thinks about it. So maybe, if you look at it like that, it’s not asking too much to ask for this._

_Only this.)_

 

***

 

A dream, maybe. A memory, perhaps.

A conversation which unfolds something like this —

 

 

“What would you wish for, if this were your story?”

“Me? I wouldn’t wish for much. Everything I wish for is here, with you.”

“That’s silly.”

 

(But not untrue.)

(Not a dream, not a memory, after all - a fact.)

 

***

 

Tooru doesn’t remember how he found Iwa-chan very well. Driven by a constant, frantic sense of desperation, days and nights melded into a long, sleepless blur. He remembers the route he took; in the barest, most objective sense - recalls running across flat, winding roads; vaguely registers flying through the treetop canopies of forests; feels distance diminishing beneath his feet as if he’s treading through water, fast but not fast enough. But the finer, more technical details - the rush of wind buffeting his face or bolstering his progress; verdant landscapes and quaint settlements, the hustle and bustle of living, breathing beings - were lost to him, disjointed and fuzzy if remembered at all.

And he’s a wreck, a maelstrom of guilt and fear and bone-deep insecurity let loose by his lack of control over the current situation. For all his precision and mastery over his magic and movements, it’s always been Iwa-chan who handled his emotions best.

 

_(Tooru, bright-eyed and spellbound; smuggling flowers from and conversing with a presence that never reciprocated, but always comforted him by sheer virtue of Being There._

_Tooru, with his well-practiced banter and easy cajolery. Iwa-chan, solid and steady and dependable, anchoring his flighty fancies and bringing him back from the brink when all Tooru wants to do is let himself fall._

_Tooru, who took pride in meeting Iwa-chan every step of the way; each touch, each struggle, each ask and answer._

_Except one.)_

 

Iwa-chan’s closer now, near enough that Tooru can sense he’s not alone. A whole swarm of other entities, surrounding his best friend in a loose, but threatening circle. Demons, and a lot of them.

Iwa-chan’s alone.

 

_(A single question - what are you afraid of?)_

 

Tooru forces his feet faster.

Each step carries him closer, slowly bringing clarity to the picture in his head - demons, and powerful ones too; their energy staticky, skyrocketing higher and higher - and sensations start flooding his senses externally, too - an atmosphere charged with ozone, metal screeching against metal; a slick, tangy taste coating his tongue and the coppery stench of blood - and finally, finally he’s pushing past foliage, stumbling into a clearing.

…And finds himself greeted with the sickening sight of a bloodbath. The carnage doesn’t quite reach him, but Tooru feels himself slipping; a hollow, falling sensation from his throat to his gut even as his feet remain planted firmly on the ground.

 

_(At the time, he hadn’t known the answer.)_

 

There are bodies littering the earth, but they’re not who Tooru’s looking for, and he doesn’t see them, eyes transfixed instead on the figure maybe ten metres in front of him. A small part of him is awed; surging with intense relief and _pride_ , the evidence of Iwa-chan holding his ground even cornered and alone unmistakable around him. For the most part, however, he drinks in the dents in Iwa-chan’s armour, displayed front and centre as he starts to sway dangerously to one side, standing upright in a manner that suggests he’s favouring his left side.

The wrongness of his knight standing shakily - vulnerable, not entirely put-together and so, so _human_ \- festers at Tooru, tunnelling his vision and all he sees - all he’s ever seen, really - is Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, _Iwa-chan_. Something stirs, pulling from deep inside his chest; his feet springing into action as though they’d never stopped.

 

_(Now, he understands. He understands, and immediately he wishes he doesn’t.)_

 

A hand claws towards his knight, and Iwa-chan starts to turn but he’s slow, too slow, Tooru gets there to block it first —

 

and Iwa-chan is right _here_ , face centimetres from his own; close enough that Tooru can feel the wavers in his best friend’s breath, exhaling too quickly and far too shallowly. For the briefest moment, time stops where it stands as Tooru drinks in the brown eyes before him - Iwa-chan’s eyes widening, pupils dilated in the exact instance he registers Tooru in front of him

 

— only for Iwa-chan to shove himself past Tooru in the opposite direction, chest-first onto a blade aimed at the blind spot by the base of Tooru’s neck. The momentum sends his knight’s outstretched sword straight through the other demon’s stomach, and he couldn’t have, Iwa-chan wouldn’t have knowingly thrust himself onto a blade like that, not for him…

 

…but if not for him, then Tooru can’t think of anyone else Iwa-chan would - and _did_ \- risk his life for. Tooru makes to turn around, check for any other foes lying in wait, but then Iwa-chan’s falling, fingers slack as they lose their grip on his sword; he moves instead to catch him, throwing himself over his friend to shield him from further harm.

 

A corner of his brain registers his energy spiralling rapidly out of control - expelling rage enough that’s its glaringly obvious he’s out for blood - but the figure enclosed beneath the fortress of Tooru’s arms is heart-stopping still, devoid of any energy at all.

 

_(Power can be insidious, luring in the weak and preying upon the strong. Yet in spite all that, it still isn’t anywhere close to the acute ache brought on by absolute understanding.)_

 

If he were more aware, Tooru’d have realised they were alone now; the remaining three demons had fled, valuing their life more than the life of a single, dying knight - much preferring the life of a fugitive than death at the hands of a grieving king (for he was grieving, there was no other word for it, the demons decided; perhaps in another life this was something they could have used to their advantage, but not now, not like this.)

If he were more aware, Tooru might have scrubbed the tears away from his eyes, or registered when he had begun to cry at all. If he had been more aware, could he have prevented this forsaken quest from unfolding at all?

Outplotted his foes from the relative safety of his castle; rested his head against Iwa-chan’s chest in a clearing surrounded by trees and light and _life_ , instead of silence and stillness and death?

 

Sobs rattle his shoulders, and Tooru welcomes the sensation, focuses on the erratic motion, pretends the shaking comes from the frantic pounding of a heart that's ceased to beat.

 

_(What are you afraid of?)_

 

…Yes, that’s it. This is a dream, a terrible nightmare, and in a few minutes he’ll wake up to Iwa-chan lecturing him for falling asleep on top of them. Or maybe the tears would prompt a hug out of Iwa-chan instead; Tooru’s never known his friend to be particularly tender, but his roughness held its own brand of gentleness despite that - always prioritising Tooru’s wellbeing over his own misgivings.

After that, maybe they could take a walk - or would something more sedentary be more appropriate? Tooru thinks it would be. The tree, then. They’d climb to the very top to lounge amongst the branches, strong and still in the face of everything the world unleashes. Then a trip to the spring nearby, bright and bubbling, water so refreshing you could drink from it just to feel alive. Another day spent in the forest, as lively as Tooru had ever seen it be, like he was sixteen again and reeling from the promise of endless summers to spend by Iwa-chan’s side…

 

Tooru can’t make himself see it. No, that’s not quite right - he can’t force himself to see it without hurting. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be seeing; reality is too painful to face, the dreams he constructs for himself even more so.

 

_Iwa-chan._

 

_(I’m afraid you won’t be on the other side.)_

 

***

 

Darkness encroached the edges of Hajime’s vision too quickly, too suddenly. His chest burned and he couldn’t see, and for a few moments he almost convinced himself he was somewhere else entirely —

 

_blackness the hollow inside of a tree, the rough bark scraping against his chest as he presses himself against the tree’s walls; if he listens hard enough he can even hear Tooru’s voice screaming something, what was he screaming_

 

— Hajime closes his eyes.

 

(Today was Tooru’s birthday.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /exhales
> 
> So yes, this was a pretty drawn out chapter.
> 
> (sorry for the hurts)
> 
> There's one more chapter to go, so I hope you'll stick with me...
> 
> (please do i haven't actually tagged chara death do you know what that means)
> 
>  
> 
> Having said that, thank you for reading as always - it means so much to log onto AO3 and see new subscribers, kudos, and hits for this story!! I'm forever grateful for any comments and concrit, they absolutely make my day, so let me know what y'all thought below :)))
> 
>  
> 
> See you next (and final) chapter...!


	6. …is right where you will be (pt. i)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what remains.  
> Only this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I've done it agaaaaain. Sorry for having to do this, but this chapter's split in two because, in its entirety, this last chapter is over 5k words. Oops. So for the sake of consistency (and my peace of mind), it's cut into two...
> 
> Just a heads-up, in case it feels a little disconnected at the end. But now that that's out of the way, here's (part i of) the last chapter!!

_In Hajime’s dreams, Tooru’s asking him a question. He’s also crying - Hajime hates it when he cries - but he can’t move, can’t speak, can’t do anything at all and Tooru just keeps crying, voice shaky with sobs. Asking him a question, the same damn thing over and over again._

 

_“Tell me this was worth it.”_

  

_And he hasn’t the faintest idea what’s going on right now, but that doesn’t matter. Where they are, what they’re supposed to be doing, all of that’s irrelevant. Tooru’s crying, and right now that’s all he cares about. In this moment, Tooru’s all there is - all there ever was, really. So the details aren’t important; Hajime knows that in any time, in any place, his answer wouldn’t change for anything. He opens his mouth, and this time words come out - raspy and almost inaudible - but there._

 

_“…I would move mountains for you.”_

  

_A bright burst of light._

_The sensation of floating; falling slowly, but upwards._

_Distantly, he’s aware that Tooru’s sobs have subsided._

_Hajime opens his eyes._

 

***

 

It’s not a dream.

  

(Even nightmares are preferable to this.)

  

Tooru knows this, because he has remained right here, head over Iwa-chan’s heart, waiting for him to move, for something to change, anything. He lies there, shivers running through his body from sobs that never quite stopped, only subsided in volume; a quiet, thrumming intensity he could keep going for days.

 

_(I dream of you even as I clutch you to my chest.)_

 

His fingers are cold, arms cramped and locked in place around Iwa-chan’s shoulders ( _no no_ , Tooru thinks, _that’s not right_ , Tooru’s the cold one; always scrambling up against Iwa-chan’s back for warmth, felt even through the trunk of a tree, lingering as a memory when he’s too far away to reach), and he can no longer feel his legs; only aware of his stomach and sides from where the metal of Iwa-chan’s armour presses in against him.

They’re in a battlefield, deserted and dead; yet in his grief Tooru brings it back to life, if in appearance alone. Energy breathes from every corner of the field, whispering ground into grass, bodies into flowers; blood as dew drops coating petals pearly and full. In this battlefield, Tooru fights against reality, braces for the inevitable to set in, but it never does. Not yet. There is only Iwa-chan, peacefully asleep; and Tooru, painfully awake - the dream and the dreamer in a field full of forget-me-nots, time slipping through slackened fingers as it colours the flowers’ petals blue to white.

 

_(“Forget-me-nots turn white after they’ve been pollinated, they don’t stay blue for long,” Iwa-chan explains, and Tooru’s riveted; fascinated and mildly horrified, clinging to his glass-covered posy lying safely above his heart._

_“How come?” he asks, not really sure he wants to know._

_“So the bees know not to stop for it anymore, to keep moving on.”_

_“Oh,” Tooru breathes, unsure what else to say - what was left, when even flowers could be forgotten? A hand finds its way to the small of his back, Iwa-chan’s gaze settling against his skin._

_“Oh,” he murmurs again, and he thinks to himself, this. This is what remains._

_Only this.)_

 

While some distant crevice of Tooru’s brain acknowledges that he can’t stay here forever, he doesn’t move. Rather, he burrows himself even further, tries to wriggle himself into a comfortable position; doesn’t feel surprised in the slightest when he finds that he can’t.

There’s nothing comfortable about this.

He lies where he is anyway, only spurred into sitting back up when he realises Iwa-chan’s neck is beginning to feel as stiff as his fingers, and when did that happen, _no not yet_ he still needs more time… _That’s not good_ , he muses, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth; small and sad and slightly unwilling.

“You never did let me wallow for long, huh.”

Even in death, Iwa-chan’s still the one pushing Tooru forward; the wind at his back, an anchoring presence at his side. Taking a deep breath, he begins to clear his mind - he doesn’t have long, rigor mortis already beginning to set in Iwa-chan’s body - and just, _concentrates_. Feels his mind reach out, expanding over every inch of the field; lets himself bask in every drop of energy, from the magicked dream-flowers, the pulse of nature surrounding him, the wellspring stemming from his own life-force. Inhales, and it feels warm, easy and effortless. Wonderingly, Tooru supposes he might be alright if it’s like this, after all.

 

_(The hand against his back is warm, and he leans into the touch.)_

 

He imagines bridging the energy built up inside him into Iwa-chan, flowing bright and strong from his hands on Iwa-chan’s chest. Imagines it settling back into his bones, through his veins; a steady current into Iwa-chan’s heart. Recalls with startling clarity the sensation of Iwa-chan’s pulse, the push and pull of his life-force with each resounding _thump-thump-thump._

 

_(Iwa-chan’s gaze, carving itself into the base of his neck. A look like that - intense and all-consuming against his skin - makes it impossible to remember how it feels to be alone.)_

 

Then, just as effortlessly, he lets it go. Pours out all the magic he can muster as before his eyes, the bridge of his hands flows with life, the transfer of energy swelling into a great burst of light. _Exhale_.

 

_(This, he thinks. This is what remains.)_

 

As quickly as it appears, the light vanishes; a slow, rolling blackness pushing against the periphery of his vision in its place. He’s not sure if it’s worked or not, but Tooru definitely knows he’s blasted the remainders of his magic reserve into nothingness somewhere, so that’s good, at least. It doesn’t hurt at all, and Tooru wonders if this is what Iwa-chan felt in the moments before he fell. Hopes that if it did hurt, it didn’t hurt him too badly. Hopes that if (when) he wakes up, he does it sometime soon, because Tooru’s beginning to lose feeling in his limbs. His eyelids flutter, he’s going to fall asleep soon but he holds it in - he’ll wait for Iwa-chan, hold out as long as he can.

 

_(Only this.)_

 

Quietly, he mumbles against Iwa-chan’s chest - the task made harder by the sudden catch in his throat, and when did his tears start falling again? - just one question, more like a sentence really, over and over again until even his mouth stops in place, no longer capable of pushing the words out of his lips.

And then he’s falling, drifting slowly downwards, and he’s not entirely sure how that works when he’s already slumped against the ground, but it does. It feels warm, like an embrace; soft and welcoming, like every happy day compressed into a single beckoning moment. It feels like arms around his back, a heartbeat thudding quietly against the chest where he rests his head - when did he lie down again, Tooru can’t remember - and it’s nice, Tooru thinks, he’s alright going out like this.

In those final moments, he imagines he hears a reply, uttered hoarse and low as it vibrates against his chest. If Tooru could smile, he probably would, but as it is he just closes his eyes; lets them fall gently shut as he thinks to himself, _I’m home_.

 

Then everything turns black.

(I’m here.)

His hands go limp, and something clatters against the ground.

(Don’t forget.)

 

> _so i’ll just be waiting_

 

Hajime wakes up alone, surrounded by a field of white flowers. Blinking groggily, he fumbles as he tries to push himself up - arms criss-crossed against his chest in a loose embrace - and stops still as he gets a proper look at his surroundings. The flowers are, upon closer inspection, forget-me-nots. Something knots in his chest, tight against his lungs so it’s just that little bit harder to breathe.

 

_(“I thought forget-me-nots were supposed to be blue, Iwa-chan.”)_

 

Tooru. Turning his head, left then right, Hajime inspects the remainder of the field for a sign of his best friend. Nothing. A breeze brushes faintly against his skin, and Hajime winces; his armour digging in where it’s been pressed into his skin at odd angles for what feels like a long time, the ache in his joints informs him. Wait, armour…?

Tickling gently against his skin, the wind continues to blow, a steadily building northeasterly that’s probably going to end with rain. At his feet, the grass continues to sway gently, unchanged from the moment Hajime opened his eyes.

Realisation hits like a ton of bricks.

 

_(“Forget-me-nots turn white after they’ve been pollinated, they don’t stay blue for long.”)_

 

Memories flood into his head, thrashing against the confines of his brain —

_fine fine almost Tooru’s birthday stumble quiet trap trap gotta run gotta get away can’t get away sacrifice sorry Tooru’s birthday fight fight win win survive blood Tooru’s birthday fight stab slip you here me don’t leave pain burning sorry sorry Tooru blackness Tooru_

— and the knot in his chest loosens, comes apart somewhere next to his feet. Hajime still can’t breathe.

 

_(“How come?”)_

 

It’s a mystery he managed to forget before, but now it’s all coming back and Hajime half wishes it wouldn’t, half wishes it would never stop. _Tooru_. And he’s not entirely sure what happened between then and now, but he can probably guess. After all, Hajime’s not stupid; he’s aware that he should, by all rights and reason, be dead right now. But he’s also incredibly conscious of the fact that he isn’t, and that he’s alone, and Tooru always was too reckless for his own damn good and _where is he right now_.

…There’s another memory, too, possibly a dream but also possibly not - of Hajime, immobile and disoriented; Tooru, shaky and sobbing, sounding so painfully desperate. _Tell me this was worth it_ , he’d said, and at the time Hajime thought he was talking about him, talking about them, having some inexplicable, infrequent bout of insecurity. And Hajime hasn’t the faintest clue how magic works, however he _does_ know his best friend, that dumbass Demon King - worry and guilt and relief gnawing inside in equal parts as he considers the magnitude of the magic Tooru must’ve cast to bring him back. Worry and guilt quickly usurp any relief, however, when he continues down that particular line of thought, because what could it possibly have cost him to bring Hajime back without Tooru here to welcome him upon awakening?

(Or: what would it have cost Tooru to do nothing for him at all?)

Turning to make his way out of the field, something cracks beneath Hajime’s feet. He bends down, picks it up. A whimper strangles its way out of his throat. His hand flies to his mouth.

 

_(“So the bees know not to stop for it anymore, to keep moving on.”)_

 

In Hajime’s other palm, encased in glass cracked from wear (and worsened by Hajime’s feet) is a forget-me-not, vibrantly blue as the day he left it for Tooru. And while the latter had never said as much, he knew his best friend kept it pinned against his chest wherever he went. The mental image of him reaching out to swipe his thumb across it now, wherever he is, only to grasp at nothing but air - hurts almost as much as the growing need to find out _where Tooru is right now_.

Grasping the battered posy between his (trembling, wired) clenched fingers, Hajime knows what he’s going to do. He isn’t bleeding anymore - body dirty and bruised but not any worse for wear - and his armour’s shot to shreds, but Hajime doesn’t care.

He’s a knight, after all.

 

_(“Oh.”)_

 

Rain begins to pour as he exits the empty clearing - forget-me-nots almost luminous beneath the grey sky - and Hajime turns away, facing only forward as he begins his - hopefully final - journey back home once more.

He just has to figure out where exactly that is, anymore.

 

***

 

A boy asks —

“Is it true demons originally came from Hell?”

 

Laughing softly, his friend breathes out —

“No, not at all.”

 

Still worried, the boy asks —

“Then, is it true demons go back to Hell when they die?”

 

Laughter sad now, his friend murmurs quietly in return —

“I think Hell is living without you someday. If it exists, Hell would be falling asleep and waking up alone.”

 

(He stops questioning his friend after that.)

 

***

 

Oikawa Tooru opens his eyes to discomfort and darkness. His hands fly out, feeling for something, something…Tooru doesn’t know. It’s a foreign sensation, however, feeling impressions forming in his mind from the contact made by his fingers. Something rough and gnarled, loosely circular in shape; the inside of a tree? Tooru can’t tell. He has no recollection how long he’s been here, or how he got here, or where here even is in the first place.

Oikawa Tooru doesn’t remember anything, but he dreams of everything.

 

_A castle, halls distant and cold; a forest that feels so much nearer, warmer despite the niggling sense it’s physically quite far away._

_Sunbeams streaming through leaves, Tooru’s feet light and fleeting as he flits between the trees._

_Remote faces, moving farther the closer you try to get. Flowers that disintegrate as soon as you touch them._

 

He sleeps a lot, as far as he can tell. It’s difficult to differentiate between dreams and memory, mostly because he seems to lack any of the latter, nothing to even form a basis for the dreams he’s swept into every time he closes his eyes. There’s an ache in his legs, cramped from maintaining the same position for so long. He should probably find a way out of here soon (is there an exit?), but he’s tired; a deep, empty ache stemming from his bones. It doesn’t fade no matter how much he sleeps, but it doesn’t stop Tooru from trying regardless.

 

_There’s a tree, old and strong, flowers nestled amongst its roots. Snippets of conversation, spoken bluntly but taken gently to heart._

_A bubbling, rippling rush of joy. Flowers of all shape, size and colour blurring into a single, polychromatic muddle. The tree, again. Flashes of nervousness, insecurity. Standing out from the rest is a small blue flower, easily recognisable despite its size._

_Indistinguishable, ambiguous shapes; nebulous landscapes all leading back to the same tree. An ever-present feeling of comfort, like the safety of an embrace that’s intangible, somehow - soft and yellow and warm. The smell of sugar and smithed steel._

 

The dreams tug at his heartstrings, soft and insistent, and Tooru doesn’t understand. It hurts, but somehow the pain isn’t unwelcome; a constant pull of nostalgia for something he’s never known. An odd grumble rumbles from Tooru’s stomach, and he shakes any lingering sentimentality away. It’s probably hunger, anyway, and when’s the last time he ate? Surprise, surprise - he can’t remember. Rising to his feet with a groan, he feels around for an exit. Bumping fingers along the knobs and grooves of what’s now unmistakably the hollow of a tree, he fumbles with a cluster of shrubbery (??), thinks he senses a breath of fresh air wafting from the leaves. _Bingo_. Stumbling clumsily towards the opening, something smooth slides beneath his feet, making them skid as he’s launched - feet-first and none too gently - out the side of what is indeed, apparently, the hollow alcove of a tree. Something crinkles as he prepares to wriggle the rest of him out of the tree.

Reaching beneath the dip where his back meets his hip, his hands gather what tripped him up on his way out of the tree. Sunlight filters gently through a canopy of trees, but Tooru blinks anyway, disoriented and sensitive to the sudden onslaught of light. Once he’s blinked the haze away, he finds himself faced with scenery pulled straight from the depths of Tooru’s dreams. A forest glade, loosely surrounded by trees and scattered with the occasional wildflower; the quiet rippling of a stream nearby. Almost instinctively, he turns back towards the tree, half-expecting to find a flower nestled amongst its roots. There isn’t.

Tooru laughs, berating himself for even considering something so silly. Even worse, he feels disappointed that his dreams weren’t actually pulled from reality. His hand clutches at his chest, right over his heart; fingers registering the cloth of his (rather tattered, definitely dirty) robe. An ache echoes dully in his chest, thudding against his ribs. What had he been expecting to find…?

Shaking off the momentary confusion - which is happening quite a lot, he needs food and water, stat - Tooru turns to follow the sounds of a gently flowing current, when he remembers the bundle still clenched in his hand.

It is, upon closer inspection, a collection of yellowed, crinkled parchment, ink faded with age and ends turned at the sides from frequent perusal. Nostalgia rears its persistent head again, and Tooru frowns. Continuing on his way towards the stream, Tooru smooths out the first page. Any further thoughts of pursuing food and water are forgotten, however, as he begins to read.

There’s not a single cloud in the sky, but drops of water pool softly against the grass by Tooru’s feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody died! Or stayed dead, anyway, which is what counts in the end. 
> 
> I've been so keen on getting to writing this part that it's actually proven quite challenging to edit? I sit here not entirely convinced whether or not it makes sense/flows/is clear enough to understand. Err, yeah. So any feedback/comments/concrit is really helpful in this respect, so I can edit things if it's completely incoherent, haha.
> 
> Thank you all endlessly for continuing to read this story, seeing comments and kudos when I log on just make my day!! Anyway, I guess I'll see you all again for the Last Chapter, part ii, which should be up...by the end of the week, latest (Uni is a time-sucking thing, seriously..).
> 
> Thanks again everyone, till next chapter :))


	7. ...is right where you will be (pt. ii)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His mind may have forgotten, but his body remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /clenches fist
> 
> we made it, everyone...my stomach kinda hurts like hell right now, but writing helped distract from the pain a little, so here it is: Last Chapter, part ii :)

Days turn into a week, weeks stringing together into almost a month. Hajime sighs. Scouring the countryside for a missing Demon King is a challenge in itself, but it’s infinitely harder when Hajime has no idea where it is he should be searching. He doesn’t give up though, because no matter how whimsical or ambitious or insecure or just plain damn _needy_ Tooru got, it was familiar; endearing even, not resented at all. Somewhere between knight training, flower-gathering and years spent side by side, Hajime’s life grew as centred around Tooru as his lungs are focused with breathing.

(Kings have knights to support them, but who supports a knight without their king?)

Driven as he might be in his current endeavour, however, Hajime’s only human. Humans aren’t infallible - but neither are demons, he notes - and desperation begins to set in as days slip fruitlessly by. Villages and wilderness come and go where nobody knows his name or recognises Tooru’s description when he asks. Rumours abound - of the kingdom’s newfound peace, freed from any insidious influence by demons; the potential causes for unrest amongst the demons themselves, apparently missing their king; of the tragedy that befell a whole squadron of knights, leaving only two alive (Hajime’s grateful to hear that, it’s comforting to know Hanamaki and Matsukawa, at least, made it back in one piece. Some might argue Hajime did too, objectively speaking, but objectivity speaks nothing of how bereft he’s felt since he woke up in that field of flowers alone).

Lost in his head, the world seems to shrink before him, encompassing only himself and the undeniable absence of anyone else by his side. It’s in this state of mind that he runs smack into someone else in the middle of an otherwise currently-unoccupied road. And yes, maybe he should apologise for walking straight into another human being (also walking along the middle of a common road, but given everything else going wrong in his life it’s just whatever) - except the stranger beats him to it.

“I beg your pardon — Iwaizumi?!”

Oh. Not a stranger after all, he realises, eyes trailing downwards to settle on the stoutly compact figure of Old Lady - Harada? Ishida? God, he can’t even remember his neighbour’s name - peering concernedly up at him, features drawn together with surprising and rapidly growing worry. “It _is_ you, isn’t it, Iwaizumi-kun? Where’ve you been - no, wait, that doesn’t matter, you’re safe and sound and your father’s worried sick for you. Don’t even start me on your mother — !”

A catch sticks in his throat, he inhales and exhales but nothing wedges it loose. Hajime’s not strong enough for this.“I’m sorry,” he interjects, cutting her off before she can ramble further, “but I have to go”. And he’s off, mind much clearer for the sudden confrontation; though he can’t say the same for his eyes, which have clouded over with tears somewhere between struggling against a nervous breakdown and rudely shrugging off a rightly-worried old woman. “Go home, Iwaizumi-kun!” she calls after him, and he wants to say _I’m trying_ , say something like _I’m sorry I’m such a mess_ , but finds his thoughts continuing down the path of self-deprecation instead.

Taking care now to keep to the side of the road, steps slowing as the scenery around him grows more and more familiar, Hajime broods. _I’m a mess who can’t even walk straight, let alone find Tooru, who lets a king sacrifice himself for his knight, what kind of knight even am I_ —

— before he just, stops. On the edge of a road a mile off from his hometown, tears trailing steadily down his face, Hajime stills and lets himself breathe it all out. Inhale, exhale. Breathing slowly (though most everything he’s done nowadays is unsteady and plodding), the forced calm lets his mind think properly and somewhat-sequentially, before finally arriving at the following conclusions:

 

  1. He’s crying for the first time in a long time, a mile from a village where anyone could see him and, more importantly, recognise him;
  2. His best friend’s still missing, the greater part of Hajime’s emotional stability gone with him, and all Hajime’s managed to do is unwittingly find his way back to a home that doesn’t really have any particular calling to him, not really; and
  3. If he were going to return to anywhere when everywhere else feels like it’s about to swallow him whole, then it’d be to a certain forest clearing not far from here. More specifically, the hollow of a tree that, for all the seclusion it offers from the world, has never once made Hajime feel as if he were suffocating. Actually, it’s in that gnarled, cylindrical hollow of darkness that Hajime’s felt the most at home in his entire life.



 

 

And it occurs to Hajime that he’s not the only to have built a place to belong in that little clearing Hajime’s come to think of as Tooru’s and his. Like a gear fit back into place, or a light bulb shining over a room Hajime’s lived in all his life, his destination all along seems suddenly so obvious that Hajime never even thought to consider it, and in the wake of this dawning realisation all that escapes from his mouth is a simple —

“Oh.”

Followed by a laugh, shuddery and hoarse from a throat choked with tears. Hajime starts walking again, bypassing the turn-off in the road that leads into the village, pushing straight into the thick of the forest instead; concentrating on the reignited sense of purpose behind each and every step.

 

 

_(“For someone I’ve never once seen in person before, Iwa-chan, you and I awfully in sync. I bet we’d be able to find each other if the world happened to end in our sleep.”_

_“Like hell we could do something like that, dumbass.”)_

 

Hope bubbles uncertainly in his chest, awkward and stumbling as his steps through the forest, driven by a desperate, inexplicable certainty that Tooru’d find his way back to the clearing, too. _Go home, Iwaizumi-kun_ , the old lady had said, and for the first time since he started this god-awful journey back, he can say with absolute certainty that he is. He knows exactly where’s going, and for the first time in a long time, Hajime allows himself to believe that everything just might be alright.

 

_(“After all, we just need to come back here, right? I just have to make it back to this tree, and you’ll be there, on the other side.”)_

 

Because Tooru’s the reason for Hajime’s safety now, and they’ve always been each others’ somewhere to belong.

And where you belong, is where you find your home.

 

***

 

Upon returning from his journey, a knight bends down on one knee. Apologises gruffly.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

 

Shaking his head, his king stands, kneels down so they’re face to face. Smiles.

“I’m sorry it was so hard for you to come back.”

 

***

 

It takes Tooru almost a week to read all the letters. Or at least, that’s what he calls them anyway, because he’s not really sure how else to label them. Spanning a time frame of what must be several years, the bottom of the parchment is yellowed and fraying, ink splotchy and faded in places; the newer parchment at the top not quite so worn, though still obviously thumbed through frequently. He pores over the one-way correspondence transcribed within the pages, commits to memory the gradual change of handwriting from stunted, halting script to something smoother, slanting diagonally across the page as though its writer couldn’t get the words down fast enough. He doesn’t think too much or too hard about the actual content he’s reading, and he definitely doesn’t dwell on the splotches he’s added to the pages from his own tears as he read.

 

_(…you don’t talk very much, do you? That’s okay; you can listen to me instead. My name is Oikawa Tooru, and I live at that castle just over there…)_

 

No,Tooru doesn’t read too far into the words at all. And if, by some chance, a discomfiting amount of the dialogue transcribed matches his own familiar speech patterns - particularly as he delves into the more recent pages of the stack - well, he doesn’t pay it any mind. It’s just a coincidence, maybe, or possibly he was the one who wrote it himself (it wasn’t, he’s tried scribbling at the edges, a messy, rounded print that doesn’t slant in the slightest). Nostalgia thrums so deeply and unceasingly in his chest that he’s learned to tune it out, incorporate it into the rest of the white noise resounding throughout the forest.

 

_(I don’t even know your name, you know. Imagine that…)_

 

Birds call sweetly to each other, and Tooru reclines once more against the hollow tree’s trunk, pile of parchment perched on his lap. It’s as good a place to stay as any, he supposes, because even though there’s a village just under a mile away, Tooru can’t seem to bring himself to leave the grove any longer than he has to. Actually, he finds himself gravitating towards this tree, stopping just shy of the entrance to the alcove within the trunk, settling instead against the solid wood on the other side.

 

_(“…I wish you’d say something back.”)_

 

A routine begins to form around this pastime, occupying Tooru’s days as he wiles them away in the glade, either unwilling or unable to stray very far from the forest’s borders, he’s not entirely been able to work out yet. It’s the height of summer, rain showers few and far between; the afternoons uncomfortably hot, the nights a few degrees too cool to rest easy. Sweat clings to the fabric of his clothes, the salty brine of tears cloying in the air. His memories prior to waking up in the tree don’t return.

 

_(Do you feel like playing again? Have you made sure to eat before coming here? …How are you today, Iwa-chan?)_

 

The dreams continue - less frequently and not quite so vivid - but they persist. Tooru finds himself filling in the gaps between conversations from various pages with half-heard whispers retained from his sleep. Within days, the grass immediately surrounding the tree is uprooted, earth worn thin and bare - a man-made crop circle by anxious, clenched fingers.

 

_(“I want to see you.”)_

 

And he wouldn’t go so far as too call them memories, but they’re all Tooru has. Maybe his inexplicable amnesia rendered him way too open to subconscious suggestion, or maybe he’s just spent too much time sitting alone in front of a damn tree (which for the life of him he still can’t make himself enter, if only to return the stack of parchment where he found it), but he’s beginning to blur the letters and dreams together in his head, unable to think of one without also calling to mind the other. Maybe this is what his memories have always felt like. Tooru wouldn’t know, but. But if that’s the case, does he really want to remember?

His toes curl into the ground beneath his feet, boots long discarded in favour of something solid, immovable. An anchor to keep him rooted. It does nothing to quell the yearning he feels inside. Tooru doesn’t know how to tell want apart from need anymore. He eats when can and drinks when he must, opens his eyes in the morning and closes them at night. The difference between dreaming and waking is one he’s stopped trying to figure out.

 

_(“Ne, Iwa-chan, where would I be without you?”)_

 

Solitude isn’t very good for him. It gnaws at him, pulls and pushes against the shreds of his composure, compels his fingers to clench over his heart instead of the grass; he knows this, really he does, but knowing something and being able to fix it are two very different things. Distancing himself from the tree clears his thoughts, but in a way that’s emptying instead of relieving, draining him hollow as the inside of the tree.

 

_(“But you’ll come back to me, right? …Promise me you’ll come back.”)_

 

Days continue to pass, and dimly he registers that it’s been almost a month since he woke up now. The corner of his brain keeping track of time has forgotten the reason it keeps track in the first place. He thinks he hears birds, chattering at each other across branches, spanning the distance between them with simple sounds. If birds could sing in words, Tooru’d listen to what they have to say. He’s tired of listening to himself. Sunlight streams through gaps in the leaves, bathing everything in a warm, golden light. Something twinges at him, stirring faintly in his head or his chest, possibly both at once, but so does everything else in this place. The trees know more of him than he does. Usually he catches himself before the feelings can overwhelm him, stop his limbs from moving in accordance to his heart instead of his head. But sometimes he can’t.

Those are the times he finds himself chasing the sunbeams, catches glimpses of children from the village from the gaps between trees. Imprints every flower he comes across to memory, cupping his hands around it like he might pick them up, cradle them close to his chest. Except he never does, fingers lingering around each bloom in a loose, protective embrace.

His mind may have forgotten, but his body remembers.

 

_(The last line of the letters is clearly most recent, yet for some reason, it’s also the least familiar. Nothing stirs in his head, no slight, awful twinge in his chest. Surprisingly, it’s his throat that reacts most strongly, the first time he read it. It wasn’t before, but the very last page became the most splotchy and smudged after Tooru finished reading it._

_“I know you’re impatient,” it reads, “so I’ll let you hold onto these for a while, yeah? Don’t laugh. Don’t cry either, now that I think about it.” A hiccup stumbles from his throat, and he tries to push it down, wants so hard not to let down the writer of these letters, but it’s really no good. “You probably will though, so that’s alright too, I guess” continues the letter. A smile, wobbly and slight, twitches the corners of his mouth upwards. “Just promise not to cry because you’re sad. If that makes sense. It probably doesn’t. Scratch that, I don’t even know if you’ll read this, you were never supposed to see them anyway.”_

_And finally, at the bottom of the page, two signatures. The first is scratched out, but Tooru thinks he can make out an “H” at the beginning. Scribbled next to it in tiny, almost-illegible scrawl, the writer’s signed off the letters with a simple, almost childish really, “Iwa-chan.”_

_His lips curl into a proper smile now, stretched almost achingly broad. It’s the only movement he didn’t stop his body from finishing, even as he felt it coming long before his mouth even moved.)_

 

A breeze picks up from behind him, mussing the hair at the back of his head. There’s another sound, too, the rustling of trees and a steady thump-thump-thump against the earth. It almost sounds like Tooru’s heartbeat. Birds continue to sing and the grass next to him remains uprooted. It’s hot but not uncomfortably so; the breeze helps. All in all, it’s actually pretty nice out, today.

A shadow falls just short of his left shoulder. The silhouette is tall and - more importantly - standing, marking it as separate from Tooru’s own, hunched from where he’s curled on the ground, a shadowy blob extending from the straight, vertical length of the tree. Sharp, ragged breaths drift from the person behind him, and Tooru’s mind whispers that he turn around, maybe possibly run depending on what (who) he finds. But the rest of his body stays still, back even leaning comfortably against the tree like it’ll be miraculously more cosy than it was every day this past month.

Surprisingly enough, Tooru finds that it is, and a smile works its way across his face. Behind him, whoever it is has calmed down somewhat, breathing not any less quick, but gentler somehow - sharp gasps subsiding into faint, breathy whispers of air.

 

_His mind may have forgotten, but his body remembers._

 

Mystery Person clears their throat.

He still doesn’t turn around.

 

> _by that tree_

 

It’s been a while since Hajime last found himself in this situation. Poised on the other side of the tree opposite Tooru, neither entering the alcove nor approaching the other boy. Caught somewhere in the middle, deliberating upon the best course of action. It’s been a while since the last time he saw Tooru’s face (he doesn’t count the field of forget-me-nots, would be perfectly content to submerge that particular recollection in the depths of his subconscious, never again to re-emerge at the surface of his awareness). There’s a part of him that imagined running straight to his best friend, on the chance that he was, in fact, waiting by the tree like Hajime hoped (prayed, wished, bet the remains of his composure on). But now that he’s here, he can’t move.

A gentle breeze blows from behind, rustling the fabric of his clothing and Tooru’s hair, alleviating some of the summer heat. Sunlight shoots through gaps between leaves, forest flora appearing positively verdant in this light. Birds sing; their shrill, fleeting songs calling out to each other across the trees. In the midst of it all, from his perch against their tree, Tooru’s silhouette is bathed in light; surrounding him in a halo of bright, beaming warmth. And for someone who used to ramble almost endlessly about the radiant quality of Hajime’s energy, he thinks that maybe Tooru should have tried at least once to see the brilliance of his own, both inside and out. It’s a familiar sight, yet one he could bask in for days.

(Neither of them were ever very good at spotting the good things about themselves, much more attuned instead to pointing out the worth of the other.)

Hajime’s missed this more than he can say.

Standing there, just drinking the scene in, Hajime feels more at ease than he’s felt in a long time. Breathing comes easier now - the languid rise and fall of his lungs, gradually pacing itself to the beat of his heart. Almost as if sensing his calm, Tooru relaxes - and Hajime hadn’t even noticed the rigidity of his posture until he watched it whoosh out of the figure in front of him - reclining back against the trunk of the tree. From his vantage point behind and slightly to the left of Tooru, Hajime can see a bundle of parchment cradled in the other boy’s lap, looking decidedly more weather-worn and thumbed through than it did before he left. Smiling, Hajime clears his throat; pauses a little to see how Tooru reacts. He doesn’t. _So he doesn’t feel like talking, huh. Never thought I’d see that day._

But that’s alright, Hajime supposes. He can do the talking for now, and goodness knows how long it’s overdue. Straightening his back as he steps just a little further to the side - the better to spot observe the other’s reactions, after all - he begins to speak.

“So, hey…I know you’re there, and I’m pretty sure you know I’m here, too. It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk right now, I can understand - I probably wouldn’t know what to say either. Actually, I still don’t really know what to say right now.”

“…well, I guess it’s best to start at the beginning, right? Oh, yeah, it’s rude not to introduce yourself first, too. Sorry. Guess I’m not really used to me starting these things…anyway. I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, and I dunno if I ever actually told you that before today but yeah. That’s my name. And it’s kinda annoying that that damn nickname matches it but you know what, it’s just like you to hit so close to home…”

 

***

 

From where he sits, Tooru listens, fingers clenching tighter and tighter to the papers in his hand. His chest hurts, and for the first time his head feels clearer than his heart does. The voice that’s speaking is low, rasping slightly like it’s recently been used for sobs instead of words. But it’s familiar, and he can feel himself rising to his feet to meet it properly.

 

_His mind may have forgotten, but his body remembers._

 

Shock paints the face of Mystery Person as Tooru turns, feels his eyes widening to mirror the expression as he does. Except his mind is whirring and his pulse is thudding and by the time his mouth opens to talk he wonders if Mystery Person mightn’t be much of a mystery after all.

 

***

 

His mouth runs dry the instant he realises Tooru’s turning around, and Hajime realises he was saying something but his head is pure white noise and for the life of him he can’t remember what it was. Or if it even matters. Then Tooru’s eyes are widening and his mouth is opening and Hajime feels his heart seem to expand, every cell in his body inching towards the boy he was so scared he’d lost in front of him.

Counts the seconds silently, _one, two, three_ —

 

“…Iwa-chan?”

 

— and the forces rooting him in place disappear as his arms finally reach out to pull Tooru to his chest.

“Yeah…Yeah, it’s me.”

He feels the air whoosh out of Tooru’s chest as he slumps against Hajime, lets himself be cradled against Hajime’s chest. And he can feel the thump of the other’s heart, pounding frantically against his ribcage, the erratic pulse almost synchronised beat for beat with Hajime’s own. Reaching one hand into his pocket, he pulls out the battered, glass-encased forget-me-not - blue and lovely as the first time he saw it - extending it tentatively towards Tooru. Summer is fire and heat and warmth, tinting the glade with a striking, dazzling glow, but the smile he receives in return glows even brighter.

 

> _always_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdfghjkl.
> 
> Wow. Just, wow okay. This turned out so much longer than I could have anticipated, but was also a whole lot more enjoyable to write than I predicted as well. Thanks for sticking 'round till the end, I'm really happy!! Anyway, this brings me to the end of "The Other Side", and the "spaces between (your fingers and mine)" series as a whole.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you again for reading; I'd love to know what y'all thought below!!
> 
> Alternatively, my tumblr's @aobaejousai
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you all again :))


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